#he wants to see just how far he can push you

[sanakiras]

PICTURE ME LIKE I PICTURE YOU

PAIRING — kim mingyu x fem!reader

WORD COUNT — 1.2k

SYNOPSIS — mingyu is hopelessly in love with someone who doesn’t love him back, and all that lies ahead is acceptance.

TAGS — unrequited love, fwb!gyu, explicit sexual content

NOTE — just a short drabble i felt like putting out. came up w this while listening to picture you by chappell roan, such a beautiful song, give it a listen !! <3

it’s been dark outside for several hours when mingyu’s kissing every inch of your body. he pushes himself into you with ease, but his touch is light as a feather. gentle.

the pace he keeps is slow, and fuck, you don’t think it’s ever felt this intimate before.

normally he’s relatively talkative during sex — this might be the quietest he’s been in bed so far, save for the grunts and moans working their way out of his throat.

“feels so good, gyu—” you’re half-slurring your words, not missing how his big hand interwines his fingers with yours as he ruts into you, a gesture that breaks your heart.

how can something feel so right yet so wrong at the same time?

of course mingyu didn’t go into this little friends-with-benefits thing with the idea of falling in love with you. hell, it’s the last thing he expected. he wanted something without strings attached but with consistency, a sense of easiness; you turned out to be looking for the same.

but he fell in love with you in a way he didn’t think was possible. to him, it felt like the kind of love you only find in the movies; the kind you can only dream of encountering in real life. it hit him sudden and hard — he didn’t confess to you, out of fear he’d lose whatever bond you have with him.

or perhaps that’s not all there is to it. perhaps he never confessed his true feelings because he knew, deep down, that you’d never reciprocate them.

because you don’t really fall for guys like him. you much prefer guys like wonwoo.

his best friend. his roommate.

the day he first saw it, he was horrified. what was a simple interaction to anyone else, was his worst nightmare. his heart sank in his chest the second he watched you and wonwoo meet from afar — that look the two of you shared was enough.

you’d never looked at him that way.

all that’s been on his mind is your look of brutally honest disappointment when he opened the door to his dorm and told you wonwoo was out. if you’d stood any closer to him, you could probably hear his confidence plummeting to his feet, as well as his heart ripping in two.

the whole ordeal should’ve made him put an end to the agreement you had with him, but he couldn’t do it.

because it’s all he had left of you. the realization hit him like a truck; the moment he’d put a stop to it, you’d no longer be his in any way.

not that you ever really were to begin with.

he’s clinging onto this last piece of you so selfishly, he knows that, but he so much as looks at you and everything he wants to say gets stuck in his throat, his thoughts never seeing the light of day.

an unsettling feeling slowly brews in his ribcage. all he wants is to understand. why don’t you love him? what does his best friend have that he doesn’t?

he might just break on top of you here — would you even care?

maybe you would. or maybe you’d just pity him.

the sound of your whimpering underneath him makes a strange, achingly good combination of heartbreak and lust. he wants nothing more than to dig his teeth into your soft skin, but forces himself not to.

your legs wrap tighter around his hips, pulling him closer to you. it’s you who puts your hands on the back of his neck, kissing him so sweetly that it almost makes him believe you want him as much as he wants you.

what makes everything worse is that he knows you tried. for a little while, you tried to see if you could give him a shred of the love he so desperately wanted to give you.

but you couldn’t.

“i want to love you like that, y’know. i want it so bad, and i tried, but…” you told him last week while slow dancing at a friend’s birthday party, “i just can’t.”

while your head was resting between his neck and shoulder, your bodies rocking side to side to the music together, he looked up at the ceiling to hold back his tears, the corners of his mouth curling downwards. it was admirable, how he held his head high that night.

truthfully, you didn’t expect him to come knocking on your door again after that. you broke his heart — even though you never wanted to — so you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to see you anymore.

but to your surprise, he did come back. he was less cheerful, sure, but it’s as if part of him chose to ignore what you said to him, for reasons you didn’t understand at first.

he needs to accept that you and him aren’t meant to be. perhaps that’s the sole reason he wanted to fuck you tonight.

it almost sickens him how much he wants to beg for you to try again. maybe if you saw him more often, or spent more time together doing whatever you wanted, or if he kissed you even more than he already has — maybe you’d grow to love him in the end.

he buries his head in the crook of your neck, hiding how shitty he feels.

‘cause he knows you won’t love him, no matter what he does or how hard he fights for it.

“i’m close,” he mutters, only momentarily lost in the chasing of his high, “fuck—”

you clench around him with shaky legs, and he shivers at the feel of your nails digging into his skin, hitting his climax right after you.

and it’s then that he breaks. as he lays his head down on your chest, staring at the wall, his lips trembling — he can’t hide how hurt he is anymore.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out with his face turned away from you, a few silent tears slipping from his eyes in defeat.

with a sad attempt for a smile, you stroke his naked back with your fingertips, your eyes welling up once you feel his teardrops landing onto the skin of your chest.

he’s so dear to you, as loving as a person could possibly be, yet you can’t love him back. a part you hates yourself for it, “i’m sorry, too.”

the sobs are fighting to escape his mouth, but he keeps them quiet, making you almost just as emotional as he is.

“i’ll get over it tomorrow, i promise. i’m sorry.” he whispers, his way of asking if you can stay together like this for just a little while longer.

you just let your tears go with a numb face and strained voice.

“i know.”

eventually, he has no more tears left, and his whole body shudders, feeling himself drift off into sleep with burning, tired eyelids.

he’ll be okay — it’s better like this.

it’s something he’ll come to terms with when he wakes up in the morning.

thank u for reading. please let me know if u enjoyed it x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[kingedbishop]

The android Bishop had already filed the exchange away and was ready to focus entirely on his knitting. He still glared at Dan when the snap startled Vincent, but otherwise didn't care to stop. He only briefly slowed down when the other further pressed against him and he lifted his arm to make way for him.

When Vincent went into stasis, he shifted to sit more comfortably, then got back to knitting.

Meanwhile, Bishop had put on his best poker face, which wasn't too different from his usual resting face. Acing a game of cards was hardly what his training was aimed at, but he would not give away information to the enemy no matter how many scans he could run on him.

He pushed his shades up, never averting his gaze. Nines seemed to be the only remotely competent one. Now he just had to see if he could get away with his own lie.

So far, he felt optimistic.

Willow kept browsing the toys, not really minding what Sixty was up to.

"That would justify Vincent's behavior, yes. Though he may improve with time. He seems to have found something of a friend already, as unlikely as that one may be. There is hope."

In any case, she couldn't really judge Vincent for who he felt safe around when she too happened to somewhat enjoy arguing with Bishop.

"Though I wonder if there are androids who deviated for acts of kindness instead."

It would have been nice to know, if anything. As they were provided with boxes, Willow decided to pick a few toys as well.

"Dan was built to be a caretaker and is exceptionally good at it. He understands how much he can push for information and perhaps he is compelled to help you because you look like his brother." she added then, "Perhaps now that you saw how simple it was to let him in, you might find yourself more willing to quiet your concerns and share your burdens with others. The reason we are here is to help the survivors of PATHOS-II." She looked over, "That of course includes you."

"He's going to be a burden if he doesn't talk to me. I have a hard time with people as is, not knowing what I can say around him isn't making it easier." Rook complained, "I already put up with that with my father and I don't want to do it again because this time I actually care about what Strasky thinks of me."

But she still listened to Dan's advice. Her methods had failed, she might as well try a different approach.

"Well, good thing I have plenty of trauma to share." she mused, "I still feel like there isn't going to be space for me until all his friends will be alright, but I'll give it a shot."

The android seemed to always be on his best behavior around Vincent, even when he wouldn't have minded bothering Dan. Sure, the other's systems always seemed on the verge of overloading and he didn't enjoy some casual brawling. But he was harmless, thus he could afford to lower his guard.

The only real threat in the house was Bishop anyway, the other humans simply looked odd. They could be ignored and he could spend some time knitting.

"Mh." He looked down as Vincent leaned in and started apologizing profusely. That was a lot of words just for daring to get a little closer. He supposed he appreciated the concern, but he didn't really care.

"You may rest." It wasn't as if it'd compromise his mobility.

Bishop smirked. The temptation to say he already knew Strohmeier's name was strong, but he managed to hold back for the sake of the game.

"The name's Bishop." he said, looking at his cards. He picked a three and placed it down, then looked at the androids.

Willow kept an eye on Sixty, if anything, to be ready in case something got knocked down.

"Even twins have different personalities. These androids have been individuals for a short time and have been molded by their most recent experiences, but they still qualify as such." the cyborg replied, taking her gloves off, "But they're hardly at the end of their path. Perhaps Daniel will improve over time and so might Vincent. Artificial beings can heal too."

That went for Strasky too, as far as she was concerned. Willow reached for the nearest toy, taking a moment to focus on the feeling of the fabric provided by the sensors in her hands.

"The children need more items to decorate their rooms with. Their preferences, according to the last survey, seem to be dogs, felines, birds and have showed less interest in toys with bright colors." she listed, "Erica will likely claim whatever they will turn down. I suppose we should pick whatever catches our attention."

Then again, she could have used a few new plushies as well.

"Well, the hope is that they'll sort each other out…and maybe be nicer to him. Strasky basically felt responsible for everybody else, which worked out as well as it sounds." Rook said, giving a shrug, "And I feel like he doesn't want the help. I can try to cheer him up, but I'm not Strohmeier or one of the others."

She paused for a moment, then carefully reached out to pet Prince.

[baby-yongbok]

Catch The Moment - Lee Know x afab!Reader

⤷ Content warning - Themes of pregnancy ⤷ WC - 0.8k ⤷ Summary - You tell Minho something special in the perfect place to capture it. ✧ Masterlist ✧

“It's gonna eat my money.” Minho scoffs as you drag him into the photo booth in the far corner of the busy arcade. 

You smile, rolling your eyes and mulling over the selections on the screen. You choose the decorations for your photos while he watches with a pout.

“Oh will you stop it, Min. It'll be fun, come on! We did this on our first date, remember?” You look into the camera and see that he's looking over at you on the screen.

“Yeah, well, these machines are old now. They never replace them, and -” He hushes when you press the start button. 

Minho lets his argument die on his tongue with a dramatic huff and eye roll that gets you chuckling.

“It's about capturing the moment, baby.” You take his hand in yours, looking over at him with a smile that softens his core a bit.

 “And what moment are we capturing exactly?” He looks down at you with a lopsided grin, his bright brown eyes shining down at you. 

Today’s outing was your idea. A cute date at a nearby cafe and the arcade after, just like your first date. 

“Well…” You trail off, smiling way too wide for him not to find it suspicious. “I have something to tell you.” The booth starts counting down to your first photo after going on its programmed spiel about how it works. 

Minho raises his eyebrows, intrigued. 

The shutter goes off. 

“What?” He looks over at the screen of the booth then back at you. It’s preparing to take the next picture. 

“You know it's taking the pictures right?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed.

You nod and he looks at you expectantly. The booth starts counting down again and you dip your hand into your jacket pocket and present him with a blue and white pregnancy test. You hold it in your palm, smiling up at him. 

He looks confused for a second, just a second before his eyes widen at the wand in your palm. 

The shutter goes off. 

“Wait.. you're serious? Jagiya, are you serious?” You giggle at him, red at the tips of his ears with sparkling wide brown eyes. You nod and the booth prepares to take the third photo. 

“I'm pregnant.” You announce through a toothy smile. Minho takes the test from you, staring down at the positive result with a sense of wild wonder. An excitement you've never seen him wear before. 

“You're pregnant.” He parrots as the booth counts down to the next photo. He breaks out into a smile, nearly bigger than your own.

The shutter goes off.

“We're pregnant.” You mutter, tears starting to well up in your own bright eyes.

 “How long have you… when did you take this test? What are… you're pregnant.” Minho rambles, his smile fading and reappearing seconds after as he processes the news. 

He settles on giving up on his questions for now. The booth prepares to take its final picture and Minho looks up at you. He doesn't speak. He can barely breathe with the pressure of shock and excitement multiplying in his chest every couple of seconds. 

His emotions are a mess but one thing is clear to him. One thing floats to the top of everything else and pushes him closer to you in the booth. The test is in his lap, his hands cup your cheeks and the booth counts down. 

“I love you.” He smiles, leaning his forehead against yours. A tear falls from your eye as some brim at his waterline. 

He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet. You both can't help but to smile into it. 

The shutter goes off. 

“I love you so much. I can't believe this.” He mutters against your lips, kissing you again, a bit longer this time to hide the fall of his own tears.

The booth prints the pictures, ejecting them into the printer slot and Minho pulls away reluctantly to retrieve them.

You look over them together, smiling at the way it captured his reaction to the news perfectly. 

“You’re a sneaky little thing.” He smiles over at you. “You planned this. This is why you wanted to go out today, isn't it?” 

“Guilty.” You chuckle, wiping your eyes. Minho looks back into his lap and picks up the test.

“Let's do it again.” He takes out another five dollar bill and pops it into the machine. “Tell me all over again.”

“What happened to it eating your money?” You tease, quickly selecting the photo customizations again.

 Minho turns to you, moving the first print of photos out of sight. “I don't care about that.” You chuckle at his change of heart. The sparkle in his eyes gleams bright in the lights of the booth. 

He cups your cheeks again, “I want to relive that. Tell me again.”

The booth starts up and you smile up at him. “Tell me.” He doesn't try to hide the tears threatening to spill over this time. He keeps his eyes on yours, a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

The booth counts down.

“I'm pregnant.” A tear falls. 

“Again” He mumbles and your own tears start to fall.

“We're gonna be parents.” You smile and he kisses you. Soft as a feather and full of love. 

The shutter goes off. 

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[theyluvpeach]

¨your vibes are off.¨

chris needs a good high to sleep, so he hits you up. dealer!reader x client!chris blurb. ⋆ ★

Chris can't sleep.

He's been awake for 72 hours now. Every single time he watches the clock change to a new number, measuring the amount he hasn't had his head shoved between his pillow. He kisses teeth. His usual strain of weed from his dealer just isn't doing it for him anymore.

He doesn't like having his business all out there, but this is ridiculous. So he turns to Matt.

When Matt sends your Instagram he thinks he's tripping, why would you be a dealer?

He knows you, not personally but he's seen you around. bright outfits, big jewelry, small bottoms, tight shirts, bold makeup—He's sure everyone on campus knows your name. You're at frats everyweekend, clubs every other week.

You look like you hang out with unicorns and fairies in your free time, why on earth would you be a dealer?

He takes Matt's word though. He finds out that you're gonna be at their frat later tonight for one of his frat brother's birthday, which ultimately is perfect because he didn't feel like chasing you down.

You're not hard to spot.

Almost mesh white top, brown mini skirt, knee-high black boots, gold chains dance along your waist, and gold bangles on your arms to match. You're a sight alright.

When he comes up to you, you're leaning against the wall, hair splayed out behind you, 2 drinks in hand, and a dazed look on your face.

"Hi." You say glancing up to him with a small smile. "Chris, right? Youngest of the triplets?"

He gives a nod in return. "Mhnp..." You let out of a soft noise that leads to him locking eyes with you. The glitter that's on your lids clumps in your mascara and makes your eyes sparkle, your lips tinted in a cherry shade. He blinks at you.

You just look at him. You stare at him like you're trying to read his soul. He hates it. But he can't bring himself to look away from you.

He begins to pull out his wallet, "Matt already paid for you, s okay." He quickly shoves his wallet back into his pocket, "Hold this." You say handing him 1 of the 2 drinks you're holding, and he does. For some reason.

You reach into your bra and pull out a small glitter baggie. "Are you serious?"

You blink. "S just a bag." You roll your eyes. Chris is starting to get annoyed at how long this interaction is taking. He's been awake for far too long, and his eyes are starting to burn like crazy. He practically snatches the small bag from your hand.

Chris is pissed. "What the—?" Okay, the pink rolling paper is pushing it, but a bow wrapped around a joint?

"What is your deal—! I.." The more he stares down at the joint, the more he notices. He can see light purple and pink sprinkled throughout the joint. "What's in this?"

"Weed."

He scoffs. "Obviously, dumbass— what other shit did you put in here?"

If music wasn't blasting hard enough for you to feel it in your heart, everyone would hear how loud Chris is yelling at you.

You glare at him—The dazed look on your face slowly disappearing. "Lavender and rose. They help calm anxiety," You say, clutching the drink in your hand tighter, causing it to spill over. "It's a free joint, man, your brother already paid for it, he specifically asked for this one," You step away from the wall and maintain eye contact, you're close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

"But if my glitter bag and my bow bother you so much, you don't have to take it. So. Do. You. Want. It. Or. Not?" You hit the center of his chest with your acrylic nail repeatedly, as each word files out of your mouth. If Chris wasn't sleep deprived, he'd probably do something about it. Like dragging you off to his room and showing what else you could do with that big mouth. But right now, all he wants to do is smoke, get high, and pass the fuck out.

"I'll take it." He grumbles, staring directly down at you, refusing to be the one to break the eye contact you guys have been holding for so long.

"Yeah." You roll your eyes and step back. "That's what I thought." You say, snatching back the drink you gave him to hold and walking off.

He thinks you're an annoying little piece of work, but that doesn't stop him from staring at your ass as you walk away.

When you're finally out of his sight is when goes off to his room.

He lets out a deep sigh sigh as he closes his door behind him, the music of the party slightly muffled by his door. He feels his phone go off.

matt: yo

tf you say to n/n???

chris: ?

matt: she said your vibes are off

Chris scoffs. If he doesn't get high enough from your little mythical fairy joint he's finding you, immediately.

Chris sleeps like a baby that night.

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel

[imloyaltoscoups]

just platonic? | yoon jeonghan

Once again, you're at Jeonghan's apartment, casually scrolling through Netflix on the TV, searching for a good show to watch, when you hear him sigh from the kitchen. It’s one of those exaggerated sighs that usually means he’s trying to get your attention without actually asking for it.

“Something wrong?” you call out, not looking up.

“I don’t know. Is there?” Jeonghan replies, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

You finally glance up, seeing him leaning against the kitchen counter, holding a mug of coffee. His hair is slightly messy, falling into his eyes, and he’s wearing that oversized shirt he always claims is ‘comfy,’ even though you know he just likes how it makes him look.

“What are you on about now?” you ask, putting the remote down.

Jeonghan shrugs, taking a slow sip from his mug, his eyes never leaving yours. “Nothing much. Just wondering why someone would spend so much time on the screen when there’s such captivating company right here.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh please, you just want attention. You’re like a cat, always craving someone to pet your ego.”

“And yet,” he says, his voice lowering a fraction, “you’re the one who always ends up giving me exactly what I want.”

You feel your face warm slightly at the suggestive undertone in his voice, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “Only because you’re so high maintenance. Someone’s got to keep you in check.”

Jeonghan’s smirk widens. He puts down his mug and walks over to the couch, sitting down a bit too close for comfort. “You sure that’s all it is? Because it kind of feels like you enjoy taking care of me.”

You huff, trying to ignore the way his leg is brushing against yours. “Someone has to. God knows you’d starve if I didn’t make you dinner every now and then.”

“True,” he says, his voice softening just a bit. “But I don’t just mean the food. You take care of me in other ways, too.”

The sudden sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you glance at him, meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes, something deep and familiar, and you know he’s not just talking about the meals you cook or the times you make sure he’s getting enough rest.

You quickly look away, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure you’re not getting too full of yourself.”

He chuckles, his shoulder bumping against yours. “Too late for that, don’t you think? You made me this way.”

“Yeah, right,” you mutter, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

There’s a brief pause, and then he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You know, if you wanted to keep me in check more often, you could always move in. Think about it—all the time in the world to tell me off for being too charming.”

You laugh, pushing him away lightly. “And spend even more time listening to you whine? Thanks but no thanks.”

Jeonghan grins, undeterred. “I’m just saying, you might enjoy it. We’d be good together, you know? Like an old married couple—arguing one minute, making up the next.”

There’s that undertone again, the one that’s somewhere between a tease and a promise. You roll your eyes for what feels like the hundredth time, but there’s no denying the butterflies you feel.

“Keep dreaming, Hannie,” you say, though there’s no real bite in your words.

He just smiles, leaning back on the couch and stretching out like a contented cat. “Don’t worry, I plan to.”

You lean back, crossing your arms as you try to ignore the heat rising in your face. Jeonghan, as usual this fcker, seems to have an uncanny ability to make you flustered, even when you know he’s just messing with you.

He glances at you sideways, his lips quirking into that sly smile that tells you he’s thinking something far more wicked than what he’s letting on. “You know, for someone who’s always pretending like we’re ‘just friends,’ you really do let me get a little too close sometimes.” His eyes flicker down to where your leg brushes against his, and you know he’s doing it on purpose.

You scoff, trying to keep your composure. “We are just friends. Stop trying to make it into something else.”

He leans back, his body close enough that the air between you seems charged. “Sure we are,” he says in that tone, the one that’s laced with something unspoken. He reaches over, his hand resting casually on your thigh. “Just friends who can’t keep their hands off each other, huh?”

You want to push his hand away, but instead, you let it stay there for a second longer than you should. “It’s not like that,” you murmur, though the lack of conviction in your voice betrays you.

“Oh, really?” he says, voice dropping lower, the teasing replaced with something more insistent. “Then why does your heart beat faster every time I touch you?” His hand moves just a little higher, the fingers pressing lightly against the edge of your shorts. “You can’t deny it—we’ve crossed a line. You’re not just my friend, and you know it.”

You give him a side-eye, your lips pressed into a thin line. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

He shifts closer, his thigh pressing against yours now, and his hand that is resting on your thigh move casually to rests on the back of the couch, inches from your shoulder. His voice drops lower, almost a whisper, but still with that undeniable edge of cocky arrogance. “I mean, we both know how good we are at this whole... arrangement. Can’t really call it ‘just friends’ when we’re in bed, can we?”

You stiffen slightly, but you refuse to let him get under your skin. “You’re ridiculous. Stop acting like you’ve got me all figured out.”

Jeonghan’s eyes sparkle with amusement as he watches you try to keep your composure. “It’s cute, you know,” he says, almost mockingly, “watching you pretend like this is all so innocent. But we both know better, don’t we?”

You snort, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “You’re really full of yourself today, huh?”

“Am I?” His smirk is sharp, teasing. “Or are you just mad you can’t deny it? Again we’ve already the crossed line, and we both know it. We’ve had our fun. But let’s be real here—you like it. I like it. And it works. So why not just embrace it?”

The way his words hang in the air makes it hard to focus on anything else. You try to ignore the effect it’s having on you—the little shiver creeping up your spine. You know you should pull away, but somehow, you don’t. Instead, you find yourself leaning to him just a little closer, almost subconsciously, as if your body is betraying your mind.

Jeonghan notices this, his smirk deepening. “See? You’re not fooling anyone. So why don’t we make it easier on ourselves? Why don’t you just move in with me? We already spend so much time together, and you’re always here anyway.” His eyes glint with mischief. “It’ll be so much more convenient, don’t you think?”

You let out a deep sigh before looking at him, “I told you before,” you say, trying to regain some semblance of control. “I’m not moving in with you. You’re too much to handle.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, leaning closer, his lips just a breath away from your ear. “Am I? Because I think you’ve gotten pretty comfortable with all the ‘handling’ I’ve been doing.”

The way he says it makes you flush, but you’re not about to admit it. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Hannie. I’m not that easy.”

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s laced with both humor and something darker, more dangerous. “Oh, I know you’re not,” he says quietly. “But you still let me in. And that’s all I really need to know.” He then leans in closer, his breath brushing against your ear as he speaks again, his voice lower, more intimate. “And honestly, I think we’d be even better if we were together more... You know, living together. Think of all the time we’d have to... reconnect. You wouldn’t have to run home after a long night. We could take things slower... or not.”

The way his breath brushes your ear makes you shiver, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck as he continues, his words slipping into that seductive tone he always seems to master so effortlessly. His lips are dangerously close now, his presence overwhelming, and despite yourself, you’re starting to feel the pull of what he’s suggesting.

“You really know how to push my buttons, don’t you?” you manage to say, though your voice falters slightly, betraying the effect he’s having on you.

Jeonghan chuckles softly, his lips brush against your ear, just a feather-light touch, but it makes your pulse quicken. “I know you like this. Don’t pretend you don’t.”, he whispers.

You swallow hard, your breath hitching as he continues, his lips now tracing the curve of your ear. You try to keep your cool, but your heart is racing in your chest, and your mind is clouded by the tension between you two. His proximity is too much, and you feel your resolve will start to crack anytime.

“You’re so damn persistent,” you mutter, trying to keep your composure. “Always getting what you want.”

“You’re not so hard to figure out, you know,” Jeonghan replies with a smirk that’s all too knowing. He moves his lips down to your jaw, kissing just below your ear before pulling back slightly. “I already know how to make you give in. But imagine if I had more time with you... more time to make you forget everything but me.”

His lips are soft as they peck your cheek, just a brief, innocent touch, but it sends a jolt of warmth through your body. He doesn’t give you time to respond, immediately tilting your chin gently to face him. You don’t pull away, but your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock onto yours, deep and intense.

“I don’t just want you to be here for a night, or a weekend, or when it’s convenient. I want all of you,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing yours as he speaks. “I want you here, with me, all the time. Think about it—having everything we want, whenever we want. No more distance, no more playing games.”

It’s not a suggestion anymore. It’s more like an invitation, wrapped in all the quiet promises that make your heart race and your mind spin. You try to hold onto the threads of control, but his gaze is too damn intense, too disarming. Your mind flashes with the idea of being with him all the time—living together, waking up to him every day, hearing his voice close by at all hours. And just the thought has your stomach flipping.

He tilts his head slightly, still close enough for his lips to brush against your skin every time he speaks. “You already leave things at my place. You think I don’t notice? You’re halfway there already. We’re already halfway there.”

You bite your lip, caught somewhere between wanting to push him away and wanting to pull him closer. He’s always been like this—persistent, unrelenting, and yet somehow irresistible. It’s dangerous. It’s thrilling. And the worst part is, you’re starting to want it, too.

“You’re really a pain in the ass,” you say, but the edge in your voice is gone, replaced with something softer, something that gives away just how much he’s getting to you.

“I’m only persistent because I know exactly what I want,” he says with a grin, brushing your hair behind your ear as his fingers graze your skin. His gaze flicks to your lips, and the tension between you both heightens in a heartbeat.

You can barely find your voice, the words coming out quieter than you intend. “And you always get what you want, right?”

Jeonghan’s grin deepens, his lips barely brushing yours as he speaks, his voice low and smooth. “Exactly. So what’s stopping you?”

p.s: I leave this to your imagination

....... ≿━━━━༺JEONGHAN༻━━━━≾ .......

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ waiting on you

xPOGUE!FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request ⟢ you and rafe have a date, but when he doesn't show up, you decide to leave

WORD COUNT: +2.k

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: /

rafe wasn’t sure what had changed in him. maybe it was the endless longing looks he’d cast across the beach, the rare glimpses of you tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, or the soft way you always greeted people with a smile, even when they didn’t deserve it. whatever it was, his ingrained disdain for pogues had crumbled like a weak sandcastle against a rising tide.

but you were different.

for months, he’d watched from afar, debating whether he had the courage to approach you. and when he finally did, fumbling over his words like an idiot, you’d agreed to dinner without hesitation, flashing that sweet smile that made his heart stumble in his chest.

so ‘why’, rafe thought bitterly as he stared at his totaled car. did life seem determined to ruin everything?

you sat in the dimly lit corner of the restaurant, your once-bright smile fading with every passing minute. the flickering candlelight reflected your unease as you glanced at the time on your phone for the hundredth time.

you had debated even going to the restaurant in the first place.

as you stood in front of the mirror earlier that evening, nervously smoothing the fabric of your dress, kie’s voice echoed in your mind.

“are you sure about this? it’s rafe cameron, of all people. he’s a kook, and not just any kook—he’s, like, the kook. you don’t think this is some kind of game to him?”

cleo had chimed in, her tone skeptical. “girl, i don’t trust him as far as i could throw him. guys like rafe don’t change, no matter how pretty they smile.”

you’d waved them off, laughing nervously. “i know, i know. but he seemed… different. he was so shy when he asked me out. i think he really meant it.”

kiara had shared a pointed look with cleo. “just… be careful, okay?”

now, as you sat at the small table near the window of the restaurant, watching the candle on the table flicker, their words played on repeat in your mind. you’d arrived ten minutes early, too nervous to be late. but now, rafe was ten minutes late.

you told yourself not to panic. maybe he was stuck in traffic. maybe he’d lost track of time. he’d show up.

right?

you checked your phone again, scrolling back through the single text he’d sent earlier in the day: “can’t wait to see you tonight. :)”

you stared at the smiley face until it blurred, second-guessing everything. was it genuine, or was it mocking? was this all a setup?

a waiter passed by, glancing at your empty table. “can i get you something while you wait?”

you smiled weakly. “just water, please.”

another twenty minutes passed, and your heart sank lower with each tick of the clock. the couple at the next table kept stealing glances your way, whispering. you felt their pity like a heavy weight on your shoulders.

you glanced at the time again. forty-five minutes late.

the lump in your throat grew as you looked down at your hands, neatly folded in your lap. you’d spent so much time getting ready—choosing the perfect dress, applying your makeup carefully, even borrowing a pair of heels from kiara because you wanted to look just right. for him.

but now, sitting alone, you couldn’t help but feel foolish.

rafe was late.

almost an hour late.

the words you’d tried to push away resurfaced:

“guys like rafe don’t change.”

your phone buzzed suddenly, and hope flared for a split second, only to be crushed when you saw it was a text from cleo: “how’s it going? he show up yet?”

you stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. finally, you typed back, “no. still waiting.”

her reply came almost instantly: “you deserve better, babe. leave his ass.”

you bit your lip, blinking back tears. maybe she was right. maybe this had all been some sick joke.

you grabbed your bag, your stomach twisting as you stood. the waiter glanced over as you waved him down. “i think i’m just going to head out,” you said quietly, your voice trembling.

as you stepped out into the cool night air, a single tear slipped down your cheek. you wiped it away quickly, furious with yourself for letting it get to you.

by the time you got home, you’d convinced yourself of one thing: you should never have trusted rafe cameron.

back at home, you kicked off your heels the moment you stepped through the door. the sting of disappointment still sat heavy in your chest, and the first thing you did was strip out of the carefully chosen dress and toss it onto your bed.

the mirror caught your reflection as you pulled your makeup wipes from the counter. you looked tired, the streaks of mascara and the smudged lipstick serving as a cruel reminder of how much effort you’d put into tonight—for nothing.

you sighed, muttering under your breath as you scrubbed at your face, “should’ve listened to kie and cleo. God, i’m so stupid.”

once your face was bare, you slipped into your favorite oversized sweatshirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. the cozy clothes were a stark contrast to the effort you’d put into dressing up, and yet you felt oddly comforted by the familiarity.

the pang of humiliation hadn’t dulled, though. you grabbed your phone, scrolling aimlessly for a moment before finding cleo’s number.

it barely rang once before she picked up. “girl, tell me you left.”

you sank into the couch, cradling the phone to your ear. “i left.” your voice cracked despite yourself.

there was a pause before Cleo spoke again, her tone softer. “oh, babe. i’m sorry. you don’t deserve that.”

tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them away. “i just… i don’t know what i was thinking. i sat there like an idiot, waiting for almost an hour. everyone was staring at me, cleo. it was humiliating.”

“first of all,” cleo said firmly, “you’re not an idiot. he’s the idiot. secondly, you deserve so much better. kie and i said it before—rafe cameron is a walking red flag. i mean, the guy’s got more baggage than a damn airport.”

despite your mood, a soft laugh escaped you. “i know. i just… i thought he was different this time, you know? he seemed so genuine when he asked me out.”

cleo’s voice softened again. “sweetheart, you’re the nicest person i know. it’s not your fault you wanted to see the best in him. but now you know. lesson learned.”

you nodded, though she couldn’t see it. “yeah.”

the ache in your chest flared again, and you sighed, pulling your knees to your chest. “i feel so stupid. i should’ve never gone.”

“you’re not stupid,” cleo said firmly. “you’re brave. most people wouldn’t have even given him a chance. and hey, at least you looked amazing. his loss, not yours.”

before you could respond, a sharp knock at the door startled you.

you frowned, glancing toward the front of your house. “who…?”

“who’s knocking at this hour?” cleo asked, her voice cautious.

“no idea,” you murmured, standing up. “hold on, i’ll check.”

yout heart thudded in your chest as you crossed the room, your phone still clutched in one hand. peeking through the peephole, your stomach dropped.

rafe.

he stood there, looking like an absolute mess. his clothes were rumpled, there was a scratch on his cheek, and he was clutching his motorcycle helmet in one hand. his expression was riddled with something you couldn’t quite place—was it guilt? desperation?

“is it him?” cleo’s voice came through the phone.

you swallowed hard, hesitating.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“don’t let him in,” she said immediately. “i swear, if he tries to sweet-talk you—”

but you’d already unlocked the door.

as it creaked open, rafe’s head snapped up, his blue eyes meeting yours. he looked… wrecked.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice rasping.

you just stared at him, unsure whether you were angry, confused, or on the verge of tears again.

“what are you doing here, Rafe?”

“i—i screwed up,” he stammered, his words tumbling out. “can i—can i please explain?”

you kept the door open just a crack, leaning against the frame, your phone still pressed to your ear. cleo’s voice came through, sharp and protective.

“is he still there?”

you glanced at rafe, who shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his messy hair. his gaze darted to you, then down to the ground, like he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

“yeah,” you murmured.

“listen to me,” cleo said firmly. “if he even tries to make some lame excuse, slam the door in his face. and text me how it goes, okay?”

you hesitated, glancing at rafe again. something about the way he stood there, looking almost… broken, softened the edge of your anger.

“okay,” you said quietly. “i’ll call you later.”

“don’t let him off easy, babe” cleo added before hanging up.

you slipped your phone into your pocket and crossed your arms, leaning against the door. “why are you here, rafe?”

he flinched at the coldness in your tone, his jaw tightening. “i—i had to come explain. please, just—can you give me a second?”

you raised an eyebrow, your skepticism clear. “explain? what’s there to explain? you stood me up.”

“no, i didn’t mean to,” he blurted out, his voice desperate. “i swear, i wanted to be there. i was on my way, but—”

“are you seriously lying right now?” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “because if this is your idea of damage control, it’s not working.”

“i’m not lying!” he said quickly, his words tumbling out so fast they almost tripped over each other. “i was driving to the restaurant, and some guy rear-ended me. out of nowhere. my car’s totaled, my phone died, and i—God, i didn’t know what to do.”

you stared at him, your anger faltering slightly at the sincerity in his voice. his hands were trembling, and he looked genuinely distraught.

“look,” he continued, taking a step closer. “i swear to you, i wanted to show up. i’d been looking forward to tonight for weeks. but after the crash, i couldn’t call anyone, and by the time i figured out a way to get here, it was too late.” he gestured vaguely to his motorcycle helmet.

“so i got my bike and came straight here.”

you studied his face, searching for any hint of dishonesty. Instead, you found something else—shame, regret, and a deep, unshakable sincerity.

“why didn’t you just go to the restaurant?” you asked quietly.

“i… i was afraid you wouldn’t be there anymore,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “and honestly, i felt like i’d already ruined everything. but i couldn’t just leave it like that. i had to see you, even if you slammed the door in my face.”

your heart twisted despite yourself. the frustration was still there, but it was tangled with something softer now—an ache you didn’t want to admit.

“so, you’re telling me you got in a car crash, lost your phone, and then scrambled to find a way to come apologize?”

he nodded earnestly. “yes. i know it sounds like some ridiculous excuse, but it’s the truth. i’m so sorry.”

you bit your lip, debating whether to believe him. every part of you wanted to cling to the anger and disappointment, to shove him out the door and lock the feelings away.

but the way he looked at you—like you were the most important person in the world—made it hard to hold on to the hurt.

“why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” you muttered.

rafe’s lips twitched into the faintest, nervous smile. “because i’m an idiot. and i was scared you wouldn’t believe me.”

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “you’re right about one thing. you are an idiot.”

rafe winced but didn’t argue.

“fine,” you said finally, stepping back to let him inside. “but you’re explaining everything. and if i find out you’re lying—”

“i’m not,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “i’ll tell you everything. i swear.”

as he stepped inside, you closed the door behind him, your heart still racing. you weren’t sure where this was going, but for some reason, you weren’t ready to let him go just yet.

you crossed your arms as rafe stood awkwardly in your living room, helmet still clutched in his hand. the tension between you felt thick, but he looked so earnest, so desperate to make things right, that you found yourself willing to hear him out.

“so?” you prompted, raising an eyebrow. “start talking.”

rafe shifted his weight, glancing down before meeting your gaze again. “okay, um… so i was on my way to the restaurant,” he began, his voice low but steady. “i was already running late—i was trying to get there faster because i didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

you narrowed your eyes, not fully buying it yet. “and then what?”

“and then… some guy slammed into the back of my truck at a stoplight,” he said, frustration creeping into his tone. “it wasn’t anything major, but my truck’s bumper was a mess, and we had to pull over. the guy wanted to exchange insurance info, and i was trying to deal with all of that when i realized my phone had died.”

you watched him closely, searching for any sign that he might be making it up. but the scratch on his cheek, the way he kept fidgeting, and the genuine regret in his voice told you otherwise.

“i couldn’t call you or get a ride,” he continued, his words tumbling out now. “by the time i got everything sorted, it was too late to show up in my truck—it wouldn’t even start properly. so i went home, grabbed my bike, and came straight here. i didn’t want to leave things like that. i couldn’t.”

you stared at him, your anger softening despite your best efforts. “and why should i believe you?”

“because it’s the truth,” he said firmly, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “i swear, i’d never stand you up. i’ve been wanting this date for so long, and the thought of ruining it… i hated myself for it.”

he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “i know i messed up, and i don’t blame you if you’re still mad. but i just wanted you to know that i wasn’t trying to hurt you. you mean too much to me for that.”

his words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. the sincerity in his voice, the way he was practically trembling with nerves—it was impossible to ignore.

finally, you sighed. “okay. i believe you.”

rafe’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he let out a breath like he’d been holding it the entire time. “thank you,” he murmured. “seriously. thank you.”

“but,” you added, holding up a finger, “you’re not off the hook completely. you still owe me a date.”

his face lit up, and for the first time that night, you saw the faintest hint of a smile. “i’ll make it up to you,” he promised, his voice soft but full of conviction.

“one hundred percent. no more making you come alone, no more waiting around for me—i’ll pick you up this time.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you mean that?”

“absolutely,” he said, stepping a little closer. “and, uh… i was thinking maybe i could make it extra special. like, i’ll pick you up on my bike, and we can ride out to the beach. watch the sunset. maybe grab some ice cream after?”

his words were tentative, like he was testing the waters, and you couldn’t help but feel the smallest tug at your heart.

“a motorcycle ride to the beach?” you repeated, pretending to think it over.

he nodded, his expression hopeful. “yeah. just you and me this time. I promise it’ll be perfect.”

you let the silence stretch for a moment, watching him squirm slightly. finally, you cracked a small smile. “okay. you’ve got one more chance.”

rafe’s face broke into a grin, the relief and happiness practically radiating off of him. “thank you,” he said softly. “you won’t regret it. i promise.”

“don’t make promises you can’t keep, cameron,” you teased, though your voice was light.

“i won’t,” he said firmly, his eyes shining. “not this time.”

for the first time that night, you let yourself believe him.

MASTERLIST

CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚｡⋆

@maybankslover ⟢ @honeyluvsatj ⟢ @zazidot ⟢ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ⟢ @lunaleah ⟢ @maybanksangel ⟢ @wtfdudesblog. ⟢ @niktwazny303. ⟢ @outerbanksloverp4l ⟢ @slut4you ⟢ @hstbsl06 ⟢@percysley ⟢ @yesshewrites1 ⟢ @goldenvespa ⟢ @magicalyoura1

[e-mm4]

heyy, love your writing sm 😙 can i request smth where in mingle, the number called is three but thanos and nam-gyu somehow get separated from reader and have someone else in the room with them and they’re slightly panicking bc they don’t know if reader is safe or not?

mingle !

pairing : thanos! x reader x namgyu!

cw : blood, drug use, talk of players dying

a/n : i probably write them so ooc but who cares. everyone lives through mingle, including gyeongsu and there’s no bad blood between minsu and semi after the game !

the two of them are obviously high, they’re fucking around dancing around you to the childish music. they’re attention isn’t fully on you for the very FIRST time since you joined their group. and you don’t know how the two of them are so uncaring about the amount of people that have died.

you’re on high alert, if a number like two is called you only have so much time to find someone else because you know namgyu and thanos will grab each other. (even if they feel bad about it later, but they are guys in the end and it’s a bros before hoes world)

if it’s four, five or even six you have semi, minsu, and gyeongsu. as long as your group stays together then everything will be fine. your hands shake despite the reassuring thought.

when the number three is called, relief floods your body and you know that you’re life is secure in the hands of the two men who swore to stay by your side whether you wanted them to or not.

but when you turn your head, they’re already running. their hands wrapped around the wrists of someone else.

and all you can do is stand there, staring at the sight, dread filling your body. frantically looking around, but feet stuck in place.

you think you’re life is already over but your wrist is suddenly pulled, feet moving on their own as you follow behind your saviour. when you reach the room you realize you’re with semi and minsu.

instantly you’re hugging them, thanking them, sobbing into the fabric of their jumpsuits because you genuinely thought your life was over.

and maybe the thought of the two men leaving you behind has you a little more than upset.

but it’s just like you thought, you’re group stayed together and everything worked out well. as long as thanos, namgyu and gyeongsu made it into a room themselves.

in a room a few doors down, the two men are beginning to experience a similar sense of dread realizing that the person they thought was you is actually gyeongsu. and of course they’re glad he’s alive, but where were you?

they’re at each others throats in an instant. the loud countdown outside of the room making them both nauseous as they point fingers and throw blame at eachother.

thanos rushes towards the peephole, frantically looking out as he calls your name. his emotions are so heightened, and he wants everything to feel like a big joke like it normally does, but his pulse is racing. he can’t see you anywhere.

and namgyu is shouting, pushing thanos away from the door in a frenzy as he looks out the same way. beads of sweat rolling down his temple as his eyes flick side to side.

you must have made it in a room right? you’re no where to be seen. but there is so many people desperately running around in search of an open room how can they be sure.

namgyu would chew on his already short nails as they return from the game. eyes scanning around.

thanos is twitching uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders to try and maintain his nonchalantness but his hands are shaking.

and as soon as you walk through that door, nervously chatting with semi, the two men are on you.

thanos is pulling you into an aggressive hug, moving back just far enough that he can still rest his hands on your arms, shaking you around.

namgyu would come up behind you, grabbing at your shoulders and squeezing them. to anyone else it might look like he’s trying to comfort you but you actually think it’s meantfor him, his fingers pressed into you through the fabric of your jumpsuit.

you just stare at them. hurt, confused, still processing how many people just died in front of you and how you were almost one of them.

namgyu would rest his chin on your shoulder, arms taking thanos spot on your arms from behind you as thanos steps back to explain what happened. and he’s so animated, head bouncing around hands flying.

“bro! i totally thought we were holding you, like you were right behind us i swear! and then we get to the room and we actually had gyeongsu! man, i was so pissed that we grabbed that idiot instead of you! no offence gyeongsu”

and from the side, right by your ear namgyu’s rattling out a similar excuse. hands rubbing up and down your arms now as he looks at thanos to confirm his story.

they must be coming down from a high because the two of them genuinely look and sound so guilty (in their own way) and scared (again, to the best of their ability while high) that it has YOU feeling guilty that you weren’t paying more attention.

so you’re accepting their apology, hugging them both and saying it’s okay because all three of you are alive, reassuring them that you’re all gonna get out of here with a shit ton of cash!

they’re both popping another pill when the mood has simmered, both denying and shaking off the fact that they we’re worried when semi pokes fun at the two of them.

we all know namgyu doesn’t like her to begin with, so she’s just fuelling the fire. he’s not acting on it yet though because you’re sitting beside him, alive, and he can’t think about anything else.

thanos is feeling a similar way. even if he was an easily perturbed man, which he isn’t usually (let’s not talking about how he interacts with player 333), he wouldn’t be paying any attention to semi. he’s engrossed in the sight that is you, hair stuck to your sweat dampened skin and face covered in splatters of blood.

[hitlikehammers]

Early November, 1984 and all Eddie wanted was to light up behind the Byers' place in peace🚬

he went all that way and all he got for it was a maybe-dead💀-but-definitely-unconscious-king👑-slash-maybe-babysitter(?), plus some shithead children directing his van🚐 to those fucking abandoned labs that may as well be lit up in neon lights screaming 🚨THIS IS A FUCKING TRAP🚨

Eddie shouldn’t be here. Like, not in a it’s forbidden kinda way, but more in a, there’s no real reason for him to fucking be here.

Save for the obvious.

It’s just…after the whole dead-not-dead thing with the youngest kiddo, the property around the Byers house has kinda turned into no-man’s-land; easy place to get high when Eddie wants a change of scenery, basically, with no one trying to break his nose, or call the pigs.

Or snatch his supply.

But when he hears that fuckface Hargrove call out, the tone on him—and Eddie’s real sensitive to tones, he can guess between the lines for everything he can’t read—he perks up; listens in. Stays put out of sight.

(And no, he does not cream his pants when Harrington calls back, Jesus; taunts like the cocky prick that he is—

And no it is not a close thing or…whatever.)

Point being: he hears more than sees what happens. Up to and including a gaggle of literal fucking children dragging Harrington toward wha Eddie thinks is Hargrove’s eyesore of a car, one of the sheepies crossing around like they’re planning on driving it, and Eddie’s not one for the rule of law or anything—definitely not if it’s Hargrove’s property that’s on the line—and fuck yes Eddie’s driven without a license, and far below the age to get one, but, but—

He’s tripping over himself to turn the keys in his own ignition and swinging the van around quick enough to kick up dirt before he leans over and throws open the passenger door.

“Hey,” he hisses, low but not quiet, he needs them to hear but he doesn’t know if Hargrove’s gonna storm out any second, it’s a delicate balance; “hey, get in,” and he’s crawling over the seat to open the back, too, to push things to the side to mostly leave it flat, tossing blankets to the middle with no care for their cleanliness because there’s no time for that shit, there’s no time and then he’s grabbing the hinges of the doors and flinging his whole top half around to eye this hoard of strange ankle-biters and what’s revealed quickly to be their still-weirdly-attractive-when-beat-to-shit charge in Steve Motherfucking Harrington, trying to project some degree of meaningful trustworthiness, because he is trustworthy, here and now, but they’re kinda in the fucking clock of crazy-eyes-Mc-West-Coast stumbling out of the house, so Eddie’s kinda gotta urge these rugrats with real feeling, waving his hands to the point where his fucking wrists hurt:

“Get in.”

And of course these little urchins still and just, raise a fucking eyebrow at him. Like they’re not working on an inexact sort of fucking timeline—

“Who the fuck are you?”

Yeesh. He wasn’t off when he said they were ankle biters; the little lambies have teeth.

“I just wanna help,” Eddie tries to say it with as much of the genuine concern that he really and truly feels, and not get weighed down with the probably-suspicious-off-the-bat vibe of pulling up in a random van just to start the exchange out with waving some strange kids into the back of it.

Jesus, that sounds terrible, wow, okay.

He gets it.

“No,” oddly, not the ringleader girl who eyed him first but it’s the curly headed boy now who stands up, squares his shoulders, and stares Eddie down with an only-slightly-less-menacing glare. “No, you’re not gonna hurt Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, I swear,” Eddie’s honestly surprised by how unmuddled his tone bleeds put as desperate, versus irritated by this motley crew of munchkins trying to fight him when he is risking his own neck to help them.

And…King Steve, but then: can he be that motionless, hanging awkward from the noodles limbs of a handful of preteens (at most)?

“I just want to get you out of here, somewhere safe,” Eddie bites his lip, wonders where the fuck he intends to go and realizes he was probably just going to drive toward his home and hope for the best; “Er, somewhere safer than here,” and they don’t fucking budge, little assholes, and Harrington doesn’t fucking twitch, and just, just…

Ugh.

“Come on,” he urges them again, just shy of begging; lets how fucking nervous he’s getting seep clear into his tone a little, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d have convinced them to move if not for the crashing of something in the house behind them, and—well.

Nothing like impending doom to speed shit along.

“I wanted to drive,” the redhead’s muttering with a scowl as they heft the body they’re barely keeping off the ground and awkwardly feed Harrington head-first up to Eddie where where he’s crawled properly into the back of the van to help, and Eddie thinks these little fuckers just might be more wild and feral and insane even than he originally would have guessed for how they make to scramble behind their Steve; only just manages to steady and lower the royal body as careful as he can before the hoard clamors in and denies Eddie so much as a moment to press his finger under Steve Harrington’s flop of bloody hair and touch below his jawline where those stupidly infuriating moles of his speckle his skin, marks that Eddie’s hasn’t ever really paid attention to ever, nope, Eddie only needs now to assess whether he’s just accepted a dead fucking body into his van but: no.

Maybe a little sluggish, but pulse’s strong. Which: Eddie doesn’t care about past the legality of it all. Beyond getting saddled with a murder charge or some other bullshit.

No other reason. Of course. Yeah.

The only thing that floors him more than the Hardy Boys-plus-Girl on steroids tearing onto the cushions around where their unconscious charge is laid out, as Eddie shifts into gear and makes to get the fuck out of dodge, like, yesterday, is the even-louder voice in his head that asks probably the most pressing question:

The fuck did the King do, and how, and why, to make these children this loyal?

What follows all that is quite arguably—actually more than that; definitely a strong contender for—the most surprising thing that’s ever happened to Eddie. That could maybe ever possibly happen to Eddie, in any circumstance for any reason within any universal construct or reality. And he’d been really marinating in his Munson Doctrine this year, too, having been forced to reevaluate some shit after the letter arrived to hammer the most disappointing nail in the coffin of Eddie’s first senior year, but then…fuck everything, then there were the stupid little sheepies and their stupid gorgeous goddamn babysitter—which still, still: what the fuck was that, who the fuck even was Steve Harrington?—and Eddie’d barely even put the ink down to dry before all of them banded secretly together and shredded that motherfucking document before it could even properly take root in Eddie’s brain.

All while something else entirely started to take root in his chest, in his hea—

Well. Something. Something that wasn’t even remotely recognizable inside his most recent—and most polished to date, if he does say so himself—draft of the Doctrine like, at all.

Which is the point.

Because Harrington was indeed alive, and did indeed wake up, and clocked Eddie quicker than expected, even by name—Munson? What the fuck?and hell if that hadn’t fluttered between Eddie’s ribs an indefensible amount that no one would ever know about ever, thank you very much, but still: Jesus H. Christ—

But all his own humiliating discombobulation at the not-even-hands-just-voice-and-presence-of-the-golden-boy aside: it’s a damn good fucking thing Harrington wakes up, and is definitely not dead, because Eddie knows where the King lives, and he knows he’s not driving in that direction but had instead been foolish enough to give these shitweasel munchkins the benefit of the doubt here, like that there maybe was a safe house or some shit, fucking sue him, he was a little prepccupied, yeah—by the threat of a chase with that Hargrove fucker and then by the absolutely spectacle of Harrington screeching at the wayward waifs like a harried mother at the stovetop, because fuck, but Eddie nearly crashes them into three ditches and at least five trees for for trying to watch and he can’t even pretend otherwise—but the end result is definitely not a fucking safe house, and these little asshats have directed him in the wholeass wrong direction, if the undeniable fact of the old abandoned labs at the edge of town looming big through his windshield, looking at least slightly less abandoned (as if that’s not goddamn terrifying in and of itself), what the fuck has he literally driven into, is he an accomplice, and to what, and just, just Jesus—

“Hey.”

Eddie is honestly wholly jolted out of his spiral for a lot of reasons, here. The low tenor exhale of a sound in a voice too kind and open and invested, to much like music given what it does to Eddie, what music means to Eddie and what this voice shouldn’t fucking mean too straight out the goddamn gate. The proximity of a body close enough to feel the warmth of each breath. The indefensible feeling of it being nearly erotic out of nowhere and with no justification at all—just the reality of Eddie’s world right now, to feel the barest brush of the side of a body alongside his, leaning forward where he’s still in the driver’s seat. All of that would tip his world at the very least into a different sort of spiral pattern, breathless in a completely other way.

But.

What knocks Eddie hardest and most effectively in one go is the hand on his shoulder, braced to comfort and steady, and the realization in the flesh of how fucking big it is, how the span of that palm, those fingers, because Eddie knew those hands looked big, not that he’d studied them with any real…attention or anything but feeling them was something entirely other, and the touch, the touch is…is—

“Hey,” and Harrington’s breath is close enough then to tickle Eddie’s hair, goddamn: “breathe.”

And where Eddie hadn’t been wholly aware that he wasn’t, y’know, doing the breathing thing so well, either for the absolute insanity of the evening or the ominous spread, all proper D&D-style foreshadowing of nope don’t go there not now not ever waiting where these menaces had directed him to drive; but whatever the reason, where Eddie now takes a gulp of air in now that fucking burns, there’s Harrington, leaning over a little more, a second hand on Eddie chest to steady him as he falls all while he’s fucking squeezing Eddie’s shoulder, only a second before he’s getting ready to jump out of the van like he wasn’t just beaten unconscious like, five fucking minutes ago.

What the actual flying fuck.

If Eddie weren’t a goddamn idiot, he’d put the van in reserve before anyone could get out the back, fuck the way they’ll be thrown against the sides, at least they won’t be walking—willingly—into whatever the fuck’s waiting, all angry red and kinda…pulsating in the distance in a way that may or may not be a trick of his own paranoid mind, and then spewing little glowing motes into the air like lightning bugs.

Which could be charming, if it weren’t way fucking past the season for that shit.

And in fairness, the whole experience of Steve Harrington touching him and leaning close and breathing near him and telling him to breathe? That shit does carry him through—mostly—the hours that will follow, cliche and genuinely fucking embarrassing as it is, as it will be, to acknowledge at all.

But in the now—

“Thanks, man.”

And…oh, well, fuck.

As in point number one: that hand—bothhands—really are distracting as all hell but then also, simultaneously, very much point number two:

What the actual fuck.

“What?”

Apparently sending Eddie-usually-eloquent-enough-to-spin-some-pretty-bullshit-on-demand-Munson reeling outta nowhere is this fucker’s MO. Probably for the best that Eddie’s been writing him off as a pretty airhead for years now—if for nothing more than his own sanity.

Or else, like…relatively speaking.

“You got us here,” Harrington gestures out the window and…yeah.

“Here?”

That’s the relative part. And the insane part to be thanked for. Because where they’ve ended up is definitely the DoE labs that were supposed to have shut down or whatever, after people disappeared and came back and disappeared again and also didn’t and were never gone and fake bodies and whatever.

No one thanks anyone for bringing them to a place like this.

“And it’s more than I could have asked someone to do,” Harrington’s going on like it’s a casual thing, a favor like walking his goddamn dog and not more like what’s actually staring them down inside the fencing, namely the building that doesn’t look as abandoned as advertised by half, and definitely doesn’t at all look like the only thing it’s missing is a big neon sign blinking TRAP! FREE TRAP! IN THE MARKET FOR A QUICK PAINFUL DEMISE AT THE HANDS OF THE WORLD’S SHITTIEST TAINT FACTORY EAST OF ARMPIT-IAPOLIS? STEP RIGHT UP! ALSO REMINDER: CLEARLY A TRAP!

“Harrington,” Eddie doesn’t love the way his voice trips over a bonafide gulp. “Steve.”

He also doesn’t love how much feeling sneaks into that part because one, where the fuck’d that even come from and two, he…

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever said this guy’s first name out loud. As in…ever.

He doesn’t love how nice it feels, how scary but bubbly-warm it tingles at the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach.

So there’s all of that.

Still set inescapably under the threat of the non-existent-but-no-less-real-neon-sign-of-death and…stuff.

“We know what we’re doing,” Steve’s pats Eddie’s shoulder again, moves the hand from his chest like he’s pulling away, like he’s leaving to go toward the trap and Eddie whips his head around just in time to catch Steve shrug sheepishly and add:

“Like, mostly.”

It is not at all lost on Eddie, how Steve doesn’t even try to sidestep that he’s walking into the gaping maw of probably death, here.

That might be the most terrifying part of this yet.

“I could,” Eddie’s voice is a crackle, so he tries clearing his throat, licking his lips; “I could at least try to help.”

That comes out a little stronger, but not steadier, and he doesn’t really think he’s making his point very well at all.

But then there’s Steve, and his hand back full on Eddie’s shoulder, saying:

“You could,” like he believes that; “and we’d be grateful,” added in like he means that too.

And most unbelievable of all of it, what he tacks on last with a squeeze of his hand and a lower pitch for no reason Eddie can figure save to catch inside the clench of his pulse so it takes to jittering like fucking mad as the King himself exhales:

“I’d be grateful.”

And what the fuck does that mean, said with eyes so bright when the night’s so dark?

And what the fuck does it mean when Eddie’s heartbeat starts jittering, a butterfly between cupped hands, until:

“I need you to be safe though,” and the words have physical form, brush Eddie’s frizzled curls straight behind his ear like…tenderness, delicate.

What. The. Fuck.

Eddie blames the way his heart goes form butterfly to battering ram, ready to crack through his ribs for no reason save a feeling he can’t justify, but’s too real to pretend away as less when he half-fucking-moans:

“What about you?”

Because Steve’s shepherding the kiddos. He’s keeping Eddie on the sidelines, safe. He’s charging into battle with a handkerchief and a bat and a goddamn pair of rubber gloves found from somewhere, sticking out his back pocket like he’s flagging in day-glo, holy hell—

But who takes care of Steve?

“I’ll see you at school,” Steve winks, leans this time to bump one shoulder straight to Eddie’s and then he’s jumping out the back of the van, and he’s moving too fast and—

“Harrington,” Eddie calls, suddenly forgetting he’d ever been trying to keep quiet, to avoid attention of whatever they’re going out to face, Hargrove or harbingers of worker fates, or both at once; “fuck, fuck,” he hissed as he trips over shit that got shifted back in his way as he stumbles to the doors and yells:

“Steve!”

And it’s like maybe saying his name does something to Steve himself, too, because he pauses, and even for the distance, the little curve of his lips isn’t a smirk, it’s a smile.

It’s fucking beautiful.

And then he’s saluting cockily before he turns on his heel with just one last parting shot;

“See you on the other side, Munson.”

And the tunnels beyond only let him watch so long, see so far. The weird shit in the air, and the bandanas he can see a scuffle over, to make sure they’re tied over noses and mouths, lit by weird pulsing colors, obscene squelching noises he can hear the echoes of even this far back and just, just…

Typical eldritch fuckery from a monster manual.

That doesn’t belong in real life.

It’s a fucking trap, Admiral. Good fucking god.

And Jesus H. Christ, but Eddie hadn’t even had the chance to light up tonight as he’d planned, as he’d explicitly driven out to do.

For fuck’s sake.

>>>part two???

For @miraculousmultifan, who requested Post-S2; 'Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—very late, obviously, and MID-S2, rather than post but it ENDS UP being post-S2, promise 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yesdangerpls @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

divider credit here

[sugurouge]

and we're still lost together. blade x f!reader

sfw‐soulmate au (physical sensations + emotions). ༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚ cursing, foul language, mean! blade, he calls you belittling names (brat, my curse, my headache, little masochist, fool, "sweetheart"), height difference, somewhat clumsy reader 1.1k words

Soulmate Blade who hates your guts. Hates how he is suddenly responsible for more than his own miserable, immortal self. In all his years of living, he never stumbled upon this liability. Never encountered the phenomenon called soulmate.

Soulmate? More like another curse, a burden, there are many words he'd rather call you.

But now you're here and he has to keep you safe because of this awful god-forsaken tie between you two that makes him feel everything you experience, from pain to pleasure. And he has to stay focused, can't get distracted by your silly feelings. But oh, you're a clumsy one. Always tripping over or bumping into something. It grinds his gears.

But the worst of it all? How you look at him. He hates how you look at him; like you know he won't hurt you, like he is your prince charming, your destined partner. Of course he can't hurt you. This awful tie makes it impossible to hurt you. In the end he will only be punished for the consequences of his own actions while experiencing all these annoying emotions you constantly struggle with.

So what other choice does he have but to spit harsh words in your face to toughen you up? To tug you close and keep you at his side at all times just to make sure you don't hurt yourself and impact him in return?

Don't you dare point out that he is starting to behave overprotective.

You're following a few feet behind him as he walks through a crowd of people. Elegant like a feline he weaved his way around the bystanders until you just have to start talking again.

"You really hate me?" Blade hears you ask after he expected you to finally stay quiet. Did he not make himself clear that you were to keep your mouth shut while walking through the city?

Blade stops in his tracks.

It gives you enough time to catch up to him, to notice that he seems lost in thoughts. It's too tempting to lift your finger and poke his cheek.

A second later you remember why you shouldn't ever poke Blade's cheek. He turns to look at you, his eyes narrowing as he glares down at your innocent face.

Blade reaches up and grabs your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it tightly as he pulls your hand away from his face.

"Yes, I hate you," he growls, his voice low and rough. "You're a constant headache, a stubborn little brat who never does as she's told. You're a liability, a fucking curse that I can't shake no matter how hard I try."

He leans in closer, his face mere inches from yours to stare into your eyes with a burning intensity. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to keep you safe, you fool. That doesn't mean I don't feel the fucking urge to protect you from every single threat out there."

Your eyes widen in awe at his confession, at the way he practically seethes because of you. How he leans in to come eye-to-eye with you, how his eyes narrow as the hatred reigns over his emotions, and the venom that drips from his words...

He's hot.

And close. He's so close to you now you can feel his breath on your skin, can see the way his eyes flick down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "So yes, I hate you. I hate you with every fiber of my being. But I also... I also can't let anything happen to you."

You nod to his confession, seem to agree with him over how annoying you can be. You're aware of the pain in the ass that you are. But maybe, maybe, you always want to be just that. Just for him.

His brat, his headache, his liability, because nothing seems as attractive as Blade when he hates you.

He knows he should let go of your hand, should push you away and tell you to run as far as you can. But he can't. He's trapped, trapped by this fucking curse and his own damn feelings.

But then you just have to do it. Have to add another layer of your charm to make this damn soulmate bond act up.

"Can you hate me forever?" You mumble as you take just a tiny step closer, staring into his pretty crimson eyes like he just confessed his love to you.

He can see how flustered you are, notices how your eyes are shining with a fucked-up sort of adoration. Despite his better judgement, he leans, until your lips are barely a hair's breadth apart.

"Forever's a long time, you little masochist," he murmurs, his voice but a low rumble. "You sure you want to sign up for that? Being my hate, my curse, my nightmare for eternity?"

He reaches out and grabs your chin, his fingers digging into your jaw as he tilts your head back.

Fuck, but you're into this, into him hating you.

"Fine," he caves. "I'll hate you forever. I'll hate you until the day I finally die, and even then, I'll probably still hate you."

"Promise?" You mumble while searching his eyes for some sort of messed up reassurance. "Promise you won't grow weak and lovesick?"

He scoffs, a harsh, bitter sound that echoes through the narrow alley. "Lovesick? You really are a naive little thing, aren't you?" He shakes his head, a wry, humorless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not going to grow weak or go soft on you."

His grip tightens, his nails digging into your skin hard enough to make you wince. "I hated you from the moment I first laid eyes on you, and I'll hate you long after you're nothing more than a distant memory. I'll hate you forever, just like I promised."

He releases you abruptly, pushing you away from him as he turns and continues down the alley. "Hurry up now, would you?"

But you stand there a little dumbfounded. Feeling the race of your heartbeat and wonder if he experiences the same inside his own chest. Until you realise he might actually leave you behind.

The panic in your voice sends shivers down Blade's spine in the worst way possible.

"Wait, hold my hand," you plea before you resume to catch up. "You always hold my hand when we go out!"

Blade can feel your eyes on his back, can hear the almost frantic tone in your voice. He knows he should just keep walking, should leave you to stumble along behind him like the clumsy fool you are. But he can't. He's trapped, ensnared by this bond and his own goddamn weakness.

"Fuck's sake, you're spoiled," he mutters, his voice rough and strained. But even as he says it, he's turning back to face you, his hand already reaching out to grab yours. His fingers close around your hand, gripping it tightly as he pulls you to his side.

"There, happy now?" he growls, his eyes narrowing the moment they meet yours. "Don't get used to it. I'm only doing this because you're a menace without someone to hold your hand."

He's already pulling you along. He knows he's walking too fast for you, knows you're probably struggling to keep up. But he can't slow down, can't risk stopping again. If he does, he might just lose his composure entirely.

"Keep up, brat," Blade snarls over his shoulder. "And watch your step. I'm not carrying your ass if you face-plant in the dirt."

He would carry you in a heartbeat if you were to hurt yourself. He could never reject you, not with the way you're burrowing under his skin, into his bones. Into his god damn soul.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[scarlettriot]

Alright. I simply cannot get the idea of getting hot and heavy in the back of some limo with Ei and a little sprinkle of sneaking around too. I don’t know where this came from or anything so here. I’m leaving it. And that’s all.

It’s sorta smutty so no minors or ageless. They’re aged up, in case that wasn’t self explanatory. Reader gets a little jealous. Other than that it’s basically just fluff with fucking.

I did not proof this what so ever. Sorry. I’m tired. I don’t even have a rough word count for you but it’s pretty short.

The two of you leaving together after some big award show after he finally breaks into the top 10. Only you’re most certainly not the woman his agencies PR team has been setting him up on dates with. The super model who’s been all over him, the face of his active wear line, the woman they want to see him with.

He’s been putting on a good show for them. Even dipped her in front of all the camera the red carpet was lined with and kissed her as a hundred flashes went off.

But, gods, she’s just not you. The cute little waitstaff always serving drinks at these events. The black skirt they make you wear hugs your curves so tightly and he can see every dip of your plush hips and he remembers what it was like the first time he got to feel you.

He was stiff in his perfectly tailored pants before the hors d’oeuvres came around. 

The first chance he got, he’d slipped away. Thankfully, his accomplishments were already recognized. He’d done his part, stood up, waved, went on stage, he didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone else. He just needed to find you again.

“I— oh fuck— I’m gonna have to get back before someone realizes I’m— I’m— right there, right there, yes please—!” It was too hard to think when his fingers were buried deep within your cunt.

He had you propped up on the back of his limo. Making you cum with your skirt all bunched up. “Don’t think you gotta go anywhere yet, pretty,” he chuckles and licks off his fingers.

“I do though, I do,” you tried forming a sentence, “I could get fired,”

He pulled your legs around him and carried you around to the door to slip inside with you. “Told you I’d get you a job at my agency, then you wouldn’t have to worry about this job.”

You sucked on his neck as he undid his belt, “don’t know how your girlfriend would feel about me working with you daily… having this happen far more often?” Because you’re not stupid, you knew if you took him up on that offer you’d be on his dick every chance the two of you had.

“She’s not my girlfriend and you know it.” He made that abundantly clear the first time he made a move on you months ago and you questioned him.

He’d just barely slipped his cock free before you were sinking down on it with a groan that would reply in his head for a lifetime. “I don’t think she knows that.”

He chuckles and it makes you clench around him. “You’re real cute when you’re jealous,” hands grip hard on your hips and he pushes you down as he grits out, “and if she does know it, that’s—not— my— problem—” rocking his hips to watch your eyes roll back.

“You’ve said it yourself though, she’s what your PR team wants. I’m nothing like her.”

He huffed before his arms wound under your legs so he could hold you up and fuck up into you as he damn well pleased. “Also told you that I don’t care what they want. You say the word and it’ll be you on my arm at these events, not her.”

You laughed before he made it into a blissed out moan.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

The windows were fogging up, anyone walking by would damn well know what was happening here. And he didn’t care at all. He’d bullied himself into you over and over again, tearing at your little outfit, unable to help himself.

Of course, you didn’t seem to mind with the way you were babbling now, tits bouncing with your head tossed back, pleasure coursing through you. “What’s the matter, pretty? Can’t do anything more than moan for me now? Should I stop and letcha think?”

His pace slowed and you cried out, “noooo!”

“Then answer me, baby, you believe me, don’t you?” Gods, for a man railing you within an inch of your life, his tone was soft and sickeningly sweet. “Promise if ya let me I’ll do this to you all night long.” Not that these quickies weren’t fun but just once he wants to see you splayed out in his bed. “I’ll make you cum over and over, as much as you want.”

He took your chin and made sure you were looking at him as he added. “I want you. For more than just a fast fuck at a party. Lemme take care of you, in every possibly way there is.”

With his cock filling you up so completely, and his eyes carrying so much hope, how could you ever deny him?

[moodymisty]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕸𝖊 (𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖛)

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 5 of 5 - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Choose Ralkan

Author's Note: So, you're here either cause you're just reading everything, or you prefer Night Lords. Either way, I hope you enjoy. The damn android tumblr app posted this accidentally again, and i suppose it helped me get up off my ass and finish it. I'm not happy with it, but I just need to finish this and move on with my life XD

Summary: A Night Lord becomes interested in you while you stand under the eyes of your Salamander guardian, and you find yourself stuck between two titans.

Relationships:Yandere Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere Night Lord

Warnings: somewhat graphic violence warning, Hints of nsfw at points, Yandere, Size differences, Very toxic suffocating relationship(s), Some knight/princess dynamics, Demeaning language,Both these guys have hero complexes, Violence blood and bruises and possibly death to say without spoilers

Word Count: 2331

You look to Lev.

He’s right; Ralkan’s protection has been little more than smothering. You find yourself now with less freedoms than you'd arrived on the Flamewrought with, confined within your own quarters out of fear of imaginary threats.

Perhaps Lev wasn't imaginary, but the lengths at with Ralkan has gone in which to cage you from him has gone to places you would consider extreme, despite the fact that the Night Lord has done nothing at all.

If anything, the one time you truly needed help, when you were being cornered by astartes, Lev was the one that was there, not him.

But you don't want Ralkan to die; He's been overbearing and suffocating but for Lev to think he needs to be killed is madness.

You wouldn't want any bloodshed if you had anything to do with it, though with astartes, that outcome will always end up being inevitable. It's in their nature, after all.

You suppose that's what Ralkan warned you about. He told you what Lev was like, what his legion was, and you didn't listen. Perhaps this is the consequences of that.

"Wait, Ralkan, d-"

You call to the Salamander who's attention waivers in your direction, allowing Lev to sneak in a solid strike to the man's jaw. He's quick to steady himself, and returns Lev's attack in force- nearly sending the Night Lord to his knee.

You quickly attempt to back out of the way as Lev is pushed towards you, as much as Ralkan tries to grapple him out of the room and away from you. When he manages to do so, gripping the shoulder of his armor and throwing him- the Night Lord stops his own momentum by gripping the frame of the door, Ralkan goes on the offensive and pushes him farther away and out of the doorframe fully.

The only downside to Ralkan's size is how much slower he is that the more lithe, agile Night Lord, who can easily dodge his blows. You try to stay as far away as you can but Throne, you want them to both stop.

"Lev! Stop!"

He doesn't pay any attention to you, too consumed by tormenting the Salamander and keeping out of his massive grip. The two fight so fast you can barely keep track, and the late hour on the Flamewrought means that there isn't someone in radius for you to try and get help from.

You could try and run for it, hoping that they won't kill one another before you get one of Ralkan's brothers.

But if you do get one of his brothers... They'll kill Lev. Without hesitation. He's attacking one of their brothers, one of their captains; His fate is sealed if you do that.

You stop running, realizing what would happen. When you turn to see them as you try and rethink your options, you realize they've moved out of sight. You hear the clashing of armor and blades, the higher pitched sounds of a knife. You hear metal clank and warp, over and over as you try to rush towards it- But it stops.

The hall becomes deathly silent other than the sound of one pair of footsteps, heavily armored.

You don't get a chance to round the corner and look for Ralkan before Lev blocks it, coming towards you. You instinctively take one backstep.

There's no one around, the ship feels so dark and cold. He approaches you; You can see the clouds of his breath as he pants.

"Lev?"

He moves closer coming in like an encroaching shadow, before reaching his hands up towards you. For a second you tense in the fear he's going for your neck, but he doesn't. His hands cradle your face. You can feel the blood that sticks to them, sticking to your skin and running down your neck.

“My little one, do you like finally being out of your cage?” 

He has blood dripping down his nose, but by the time it reaches past his lips, it’s already beginning to coagulate. 

“What, what did you do?”

You don't want to leave; The Salamanders have kept you safe and fed, Ralkan kept you safe and fed. Lev is a complete unknown and the thought of him having you to himself terrifies you no matter how kind he's been to you as of yet.

But Ralkan isn't coming.

"You don't belong to him anymore."

You didn't think you belonged to him to begin with, is Lev seeing something you aren't? Or is it something that's just not there at all, that the insanity of their genefather is making him see?

Ralkan warned you that Night Lords are prone to it.

The madness of the 8th. They loose what little sanity they have, and nothing around them is safe.

Lev grabs you by the ribcage and hauls you into his arms, and the yell In your throat is taken from your lungs much like the rest of your air. The Flamewrought blurs through your vision as a maze of corridors and hidden nooks, before you're soon entrenched in complete and total darkness.

Lev's lips smash against yours, teeth biting and catching your skin. He’s always nippy, like some sort of untrained hound. In a secret thought you suppose he is, in a way.

His body is so much larger than yours it’s so easy for him to cage you in, trapping you against he shoddy metal structure that serves as his cot. You feel his hand trailing up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your clothes up and moving-

“Lev!” 

The door to his quarters slams open, and Lev instinctively goes to reach for his bolter. He stops however, when realizing it's one of his brothers.

“We’ve tried getting you by vox for thirty minutes.” His brother looks right at your barely clothed form and grunts. You're still trying to learn Nostroman, the words are quick and rough, but you're slowing beginning to catch enough that sentences eventually pull together in a way where you can understand the core meaning of them. Most of the time.

“Quit playing around. You’re needed planet side.” He nods in your general direction. “And bring your toy with. She worked the last time. Captain doesn’t want to deal with the commissars himself again.” 

You always work well whenever they need to speak with mortals. You’re easier on the eyes, more convincing. They throw you at baselines and try to have you do work far more suited for a diplomat than a remembrancer, though you suppose they don't care about the difference.

You're a baseline. Do it.

But Lev hates it. They look at you like you’re nothing more than meat, some fruit ripe for the taking. Whenever you return from these sorts of things Lev is oftentimes even more possessive than he usually is, muttering about how you’re far more than talking to pitiful little baselines, to him.

It’s his job to protect you from all of them.

From the moment you first asked if he was ok, he knew you were something special. 

His battle brother kicks something, and grumbles in Nostroman as he leaves the room.

"Are we leaving now?"

You look up at him, his hair falling forward to frame his face slightly. He doesn't answer, and merely decides to lean down and continue wounding your neck with bites as your nails scratch his skin.

"He wasn't even armored. It will take him 30 minutes at least." You whimper as his teeth catch your skin again.

"It'll take you 30 minutes as well,"

You breathlessly say as your feel his hand barge it's way between your thighs once more. Lev looks down at you.

"Watch your tongue. Your attitude overstays it's welcome."

Lev likes when you have a bit of an attitude sometimes, talk back, but only when he doesn't have to fight it. When it irritates him, he expects you to quiet down- let him toy with you.

His fingers tip into your core and you whimper at the sudden stretch, legs spreading as if trying to ease it and accommodate his large hand. He eats up the way you whimper, mouth against the corner of yours, attempting to cram a second finger inside of you shortly thereafter and push them both even deeper.

The shaky whimper you let makes him let out a breathy chuckle, the gritting of your teeth from both pleasure and pain. You wish he'd be less rough, but you've heard things from him; About how much rougher he could be.

It's apparently not common for baselines to survive this long under the ownership of a singular Night Lord. Lev's squad jokes that you are pampered because of it.

Lev snaps at them for it, but are you? Is your mountain of blankets and little light in the darkness of his quarters considered a luxury among the few humans aboard this ship?

"Lev..."

You whimper, feeling him finally manage to seat both of his fingers entirely inside you. They scissor and curl deep within you stretching you, making him smile as your writhe on his hand.

When he pulls his fingers from you, it's impossible not to whine, though it gets cut off when he grips you by the hips and suddenly pulls and flips you onto your stomach.

It's easier for him to have you this way, with how wide his body is in comparison to yours. But the lack of sight makes you jolt as you feel his cock press against your thighs, and you can't help but arch your back trying to present yourself to him better.

He scares you, but you want him. You want him not to chain you down again.

It doesn't take much for the head of his cock to press against your entrance and pop inside, the rest of him sliding into you without much effort. It still stretches but not enough to burn, groaning as he bottoms out in you and the wide expanse of his hips presses against your ass.

The feeling of his warm skin on the back of your thighs he begins to roughly slam into you, and not long later do you lose the strength in your back and legs to stay arched and fall prone on to the cot. He follows you, driving into your cunt and pushing deeper as you clench around him. He needs to grip you with one shoulder to keep you from sliding away from him, trapped under his massive body as his cock threatens to knock your cervix.

His hips slam into your ass, making the cot creak and groan helplessly. You gasp, the air constantly taken from your lungs, hands digging into the fabric of the cot. His weight laying on you is so much yet you know this is only a fraction of him, his forearms holding a significant portion of his weight off of you.

It feels, good; It feels warm and tight you can't help but enjoy it, like you're safe in a little pocket he's left just for you. Everything around him is so cold and dark, It's like he's just a little bit of light to keep you safe.

Lev lets out a deep, chesty groan as you tighten around him, whimpering through your pursed lips as you cum around him. He mindlessly continues to fuck you through it, like little more than an animal, making you squeal and whine and gasp.

He's close, his hips are losing pace and his heavy panting is getting faster; He's losing care for your safety as his hips start to pound down on you hard in the chase for his own release.

These bruises will be deep, this time. You'll feel them aching for days.

When Lev cums his hips stutter before he shoves himself deep side of you, painting your walls and surely your cervix with cum. You can feel the heat of it and the throbbing of his cock as he releases, his muscles tight like readied triggers so close to your sensitive body.

When he pulls from you, you whine at the sudden ache of emptiness and the soreness of his forced entry, the way your entrance flutters and leaks with cum that pools in the squish of your thighs.

"Get up."

He chuckles at you when he himself rises to his feet at the side of the cot, laughing as you struggle and shake to try and move and right yourself. You're unsteady on your knees, cum leaks down your thighs- your presentable clothes are somewhere around here. They're usually hidden underneath the cot, along with a few other things that are kept just for you. You manage to find the respectable clothes you're looking for, the ones he took you from the Flamewrought in, and put them on.

"At least my brothers will keep off of you now that you smell fresh again."

You doubt they will. Fresh unscarred baselines are always a desired commodity; You can't go anywhere without them watching you. Lev has to watch every single corner or else one will snatch you for themselves, forcing you to stay close to him and hold tight to your safety.

"...Let's go."

Lev doesn't like bringing you along for these things, he doesn't enjoy when anyone, let along baseline males look at you, but his leaders demand it. He opens the door to his quarters and what little light comes from inside is unable to penetrate the darkness of the hall.

The Nightfall is always pitch black, and it terrifies you. It's the main reason you've never tried to break from his quarters; This is what is outside of it. There's no options anymore.

"Can you help me?"

You say, reaching a hand out to him. You can't see in this dark, but he can. Your words make him smile.

Lev grabs your hand and wraps his fingers tightly around it, and begins guiding you in the pitch black.

[kiefbowl]

What about amateur porn or drawn erotica?

"amateur porn" is mostly a marketing term. it's meant to convey an idea that the porn is "homemade." but what stops people from just producing and marketing content that looks like that? especially since the idea has been pushed successfully that this is "more ethical porn." That is capitalism 101 - find a market you aren't capturing, make them a product they'll buy.

Even in the event it's not actually a production by a studio, you cannot verify that the porn you're watching is not a woman in an abusive relationship with a pimp. Boyfriends become pimps all the time. I think people have this idea that pimps are caricatures that pop out of the ground organically and fully formed, like some sort of mythological "bad guy." They don't stop to think that any opportunistic man (or woman) can become a pimp easily by just having access to a vulnerable woman. If someone enjoys porn, I think it's easy and worthwhile for them to have a disconnect between what "real abusers" do and what happens in a mythical porn setting that's more convenient to imagine. Yet do you need to look far to find examples of couples either A) joking how much money they could make if the wife would get on OF B) fighting because the husband wants the wife to get on OF to increase their revenue and she doesn't or C) just flat out admitting the wife is on OF and how much money it brings to the table? Besides the fact that in any one of these situations, this could be a covert marketing tactic by OF working with a couple, but even if it's not...why believe in scenario C that the husband is just some good guy and this is just some normal situation they fell into? The difference between scenario C and a pimp is what? They're being public about it by framing it a certain way? Well if that makes the public normalize it, why wouldn't "real" pimps just take that lead and do the same? My point is that there is no distinction: a man (whether it's a stranger, a friend, a dad, a husband, a boyfriend) exerting control over a woman by making her perform sexual acts for his own profit is a pimp, and I don't see why we should trust the way he frames it publicly, even if he says "I'm just a progressive husband who isn't jealous and loves that my wife shakes ass online for our family" or whatever gets people to go "cool! I will not questions this."

I'm sure you're asking in good faith anon, so this isn't directed specifically at you, but often when porn watchers are engaging in debate about porn, they'll start bringing up things like 'drawn erotica' as if it's some sort of gotcha. To me, it's so revealing how little they care about the arguments presented about the harms of the porn industry because yes, obviously drawn erotica is different than filming real humans having sex. It also reveals some sort of assumed bias that the person presenting objections to porn without appealing to religious morality or puritanical ideas about sex are somehow being deceitful. As if once "victimless porn" is brought up, they'll be unable to lie and their true nature will be revealed because they'll have some thinly veiled excuses about how drawn porn is obviously just as bad, because it's so sexy!

Drawings of people having sex or being naked and sexual are not above criticism in how they replicate harmful ideas about sex, sexuality, and gender - but they also aren't literal forms of violence against real people. So, it's irrelevant to the discussion of vulnerable people being pushed into porn to perform sexual acts against their will to a point of ruination. If someone feels comfortable continuing to watch and masturbate to porn after this has been explained to them, I don't see why any thoughts I have on erotica written or drawn or otherwise really matters. They can't be convinced through that avenue, clearly. They're probably willing to take whatever thread they can pull on to justify their consumption and to assuage their conscience over watching porn. That to me signifies a porn addiction, because even a casual viewer of porn who's never come across any anti-porn arguments knows they can live without porn, knows they don't need to defend it tooth and nail, and will not play stupid about comparisons to real people having sex on film/enacting violence on each other to erotic drawings.

At the end of the day, re: erotica, I would need to take each thing of media in it's own right and judge it for itself (like all film, books, and art). If it replicates pornographic images (i.e. the film language of porn that I take issue with vis-a-vis misogyny and violence against women), then yeah I'm going to have a problem with it. Not because it's sexual, but because it's content is disagreeable to me in that it's misogynistic. The scale for that is going to be sliding - the difference between a causal representation of unexamined gender dynamics and extremely violent CSAM is huge. I don't take issues with people finding, say, mild 18th century drawings titillating as much as I take issues with people acting entitled to violent images as if their masturbation depends on it and they're entitled to masturbate to whatever they want. Why? I masturbate to my imagination all the time. It's literally the easiest and most natural thing to do. If someone can't, it's probably because they're addicted to porn. If desperate poor women being pushed into drugs to continue making porn that becomes increasingly violent doesn't stop someone from watching porn, then maybe I should ask them to get angry at porn for altering their brain so badly. That's how desperate people sound when they have to scrape the bottom of the barrel in the face of facts about violence, poverty, suicide, and abuse.

[angstywaifu]

Insomnia - Garrick Tavis

Anonymous Request: Garrick x reader where she struggles with sleep/has insomnia and she goes to Garrick for comfort or he finds out somehow and comforts her and she can only fall asleep with him there 💕 just a very fluffy fic

Garrick Tavis x Reader

Masterlist | Support Me

“You look like shit.” Imogen says as I sit down in front of her in the dining hall.

”And you wonder why you’re single.” Bodhi mutters before Imogen smacks him across the head. “Hey!”

”She’s not wrong.” I point out as I shove my fork into a roast potato. “Sleeps been…. difficult lately.”

Bodhi turns to me, concern written all over his face as he looks me over. “You can so no, you know that right?”

I know what he’s getting at. But Xaden sending us on supply runs has got nothing to do with it. I wish that was the issue. But I’ve struggled with sleep every since the day our parents got burned. And every now and then I hit a rough patch of a few weeks were I barely get an hours sleep at night. And right now was one of those patches.

”I’m aware. But it’s got nothing to do with that.” I tell him with a tight lipped smile. “I’ve been struggling with sleep for quite some time now.”

He nods, clearly getting the hint behind my words. And if I can’t sleep, I may as well be on supply runs and make use of not being able to sleep.

”I can take over for you tonight. You look like you’re going to pass out in your chair.” Imogen offers

I shake my head. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. It’s only a short one.”

She purses her lips but nods at me. She knew better than to push it. Both of us were as stubborn as each other. Bodhi mutters something about leadership duties and gets up from the table, leaving Imogen and I to eat alone until Quinn joins us. I quickly finish my dinner, getting up from the table before Quinn can notice how tired I look. I feel Imogen’s eyes follow me as I get up from the table and make my way out of the dining hall and towards the flight field. As I make my way into the courtyard, skirting my way around the edges, shadows consume me, hiding me from any prying eyes. I look around, but don’t see Xaden anywhere. But I knew he had eyes on me if he was covering me. Luckily the courtyard is empty with everyone eating dinner. But it was better to be safe than sorry. As I walk up the final steps into the field, Xaden is waiting for me. I’d expected him to be down in the courtyard. It was scary how powerful he was with those shadows.

”Everything ready to go?” I ask him as I walk up to him.

He nods over to my dragon, two loaded packs ready to go next to her. Big enough for her to grab onto, but small enough no one would notice them once she held them in her claws.

”All ready to go. You sure you’re up to this?” He asks me, his onyx eyes bearing into me.

I shake my head and laugh. “Let me guess, Bodhi came to you worried about me.”

He nods. “And with good reason. You look like you’re about to keel over. I can get someone else to do this.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. Like I told Bodhi I’ve struggled with sleep for years now. Sometimes I hit rough patches where I barely get any. But I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

He narrows his eyes at me but eventually nods. “Fine, but I want you to report to me when you get back.”

”You got it Wingleader.” I say with a mock salute before turning and walking over to my dragon.

I groan as we land back in the flight field. The shockwave making everything hurt. Exhaustion was royally kicking my ass, but I could tell sleep still evaded me and I would probably get none once I got back to my room. I slide down my dragons leg, staggering as my feet hit the ground. I stumble for a few steps, putting my hands out to stop the fall I know is coming before something stops me. Not something. Someone. Their hands grip my upper arms tightly from behind, pulling me up right.

”You are far from ok.” A familiar gruff voice growls from behind me.

My eyes widen. Shit. Their hands loosen as I turn to face a very angry Garrick.

”I’m fine.” I tell him sternly, though I know it does little to convince him after what he just saw.

”You nearly falling off your dragon is not fine. When was the last time you slept?” He demands as he takes in the shadows under my eyes.

”I got an hour last night.” I say with shrug before quickly stifling a yawn.

He narrows his hazel eyes at me. “When was the last time you got proper sleep?”

”You know I haven’t slept properly in years.” I shoot back.

Garrick was probably the only one that knew the extent of my sleeping problem. Kind of hard to hide something like that when we we’re fostered together. Countless nights he’d found me awake in my room reading or drawing. Had seen me go through my first rough patch where I’d practically passed out on him during a training session.

”Well aware. So why didn’t you come to me?” He asks with a cocked eyebrow.

”Because we have far bigger issues than sleeping issues we can’t fix. I’ll be fine.” I tell him sternly, before swaying slightly.

Garrick’s hands fly out and catch me before I stumble again. He grumbles something I can’t make out before dipping down and scooping me into his arms. I go to protest, but as he tightens his hold on me, I know I have no chance in fighting this. And I couldn’t deny, the familiar gesture was exactly what I needed. I rest my head on his shoulder as he walks us out of the flight field. It doesn’t take long for the rocking movement and his presence to make my heavy eyes flutter close, lulling me into a deep sleep.

I squint against the bright light, hand flying up to shield me from the sun coming through the open drapes. I groan, burying my head into what should be my pillow, but isn’t. No this solid, harder than a pillow but not uncomfortable. A steady beat thrumming against my ear. The familiar scent of leather, cinnamon and musk instantly having my body relax.

”About time you woke up.” Garrick’s familiar teasing tone meeting my ears.

I smack him lightly on the chest, causing him to laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest into me. “If you keep that up I’m never coming to you if this happens again.”

Garrick’s chest rumbles with laughter again. “You say that every time sweetheart.” He tells me before kissing the top of my head lightly.

”One day I won’t come back.” I warn him teasingly as I turn my head to look up at him.

Cocky bastard just smiles down at me knowingly. “I’ll believe it when it happens. Now get some more rest.” He tells me before shutting his own eyes and leaning his head back against the wall.

“Maybe if someone hadn’t left my drapes open I could.” I retort.

Garrick doesn’t even open his eyes as he raises his hand and waves it, the drapes sliding close and plunging the room into darkness. “Problem solved. Now go to sleep.”

[cupidkenji]

Gnaw

Now Playing: Gnaw - Alex G everything I knew was looking just as it should Pairing: Nam gyu (player 124) x AFAB!reader CW: smut, oral (r receiving), choking but not in a freaky way he literally chokes reader to get them unconscious (no somno), kidnapping kind of (he takes them back to their house), knifeplay 💀, restraints being used (reader's wrists are tied), noncon technically but again mentally reader is into it, toxic ex bf, he's really whipped tho, minor bloodplay, undertones of sadism, lokey father figure vibes from Nam gyu (i'm so sorry), probably kind of OOC, university AU Summary: After that night, you ran. You should know by now you can never get far from him. Disclaimer: Reader is always thought of to be chubby/bigger when writing but I do my best to not physically describe reader at all with stuff like skin tone or body type. Anyone can read this as reader is not depicted but if there's a slip up please let me know. <3 WC: 3.7k (again) this is a part 2! read part 1 here.

the worms are eating away at my brain i am going crazy. please for this story just imagine you have one of those bed frames that are individual bars w space in between them instead of like one solid thing. also i really need to start writing these earlier in the day so i have the energy to proof read them. i'm sorry for my sins have mercy on me.

The sunlight seared through a pair of shitty motel curtains, attempting to penetrate your shut eyelids. It was the sixth day you were waking up in a scratchy bed on the run down side of your already dirty town. It was the sixth day you would spend missing him. 

You knew it was wrong, immoral to even think of returning to the man who had done such a thing. Who was clearly at a place in his life where he could do such a thing. Even through all the intellectualizing of his actions, the pleading you did with yourself to be disgusted, you weren’t. You knew it the second he cleaned you up and went to sleep, and it was terrifying, so you ran. As soon as you were sober, you ran to the only sanctuary you could afford as a college student who was also renting an apartment and a vehicle. You had already overstayed your welcome, knowing that the six days would cost you more than you wanted to shell out. You didn’t know how long you planned to be gone, originally fleeing the scene to be able to think. It was only proving more difficult as the days ticked on. You’d come all the way out here to talk yourself into hating him, only to carve out an even bigger space within yourself that he was to occupy. You missed him. The more you thought about it, the more apparent it became, and that just pushed you to stay longer. To wait out the bruising feeling eating at you the more you forced yourself away. 

You skipped class, not daring to step foot on campus lest he be waiting for her. The thought made your head fizz, a horrified and excited feeling mingling as they wrapped around the nerves in your stomach. Just the possibility of seeing him overwhelmed you, but you were simultaneously sick from the distance. You were sick of your surroundings, too. The walls were gray and stained, and you feared the hygiene status of the bed you were sleeping in. You hadn’t had much time to pack when you’d left, grabbing miscellaneous clothing that had yet to be put away and shoving it in a backpack. You hadn’t brought a blanket or a pillow, something you regretted. The suffocating nature of the beige room prompted the nightly walks you’d been taking. It was a bearable temperature, and the full perimeter of the building provided a decent amount of ground to cover. You hadn’t grabbed a charger, leaving your phone dead and you bored. Without any artificial stimulation to occupy your head, you took notice of the normally unnoticeable aspects of such a place. There were bits of a wired fence on the right side of the parking lot, the few lamps that lit the outside up had security cameras on them that didn’t work. You couldn't sleep one night, so you’d gone to look at them, finding that when the cords reached the end of the pole, they’d been haphazardly cut. It looked rushed and frayed, like a child had done it with safety scissors. It was deceiving, truly. There was no safety in an already dim parking lot. 

On tonight’s walk, you mulled over the date you’d return by. You still needed to graduate, and realistically, you couldn’t avoid your life forever. You were getting progressively more tired, sleeping less each night you stayed, missing the comfort of your own bed. The ground was uneven and cracked under your shoes, reminding you of the gray, crumbling building you were supposed to retrieve your roommate from. Reminding you of him, how stupid all of this was. There was a familiar smell in the air as you rounded a corner, nearly back to your room. It was distinct, heady and musky, as if you were back on that street and looking up at the flowing smoke again. You did your usual observation of the desolate asphalt full of empty parking spots.

And what the fuck were the odds?

He was already looking at you, the end of his cigarette glowing orange as he took a drag, like a sniper taking aim. He was a mere silhouette being poorly lit up by a streetlight that barely worked, but you knew. It was this feeling of magnetism, the same way he knew exactly who he was looking at, you felt the world around you melt, the air around you became irrelevant as your eyes locked on him. There was another man there, leaning against the hood of his car with Nam gyu right next to him, taking no notice of you as he spoke. You couldn’t make out his words with how far away you were. The man you’d been avoiding making little sounds of acknowledgement while being completely trained on you, posture relaxed and comfortable. He found you.

His friend nudged him, mumbling something and standing up. The both of them walked back into what was presumably the man’s room after snuffing out what they were smoking. You didn’t even register your legs beelining for your room. You threw whatever you had into the backpack you’d brought. You needed to get the fuck out of here. It was an unfathomable cruel move from whatever higher power was in charge of this situation. The two of you were being forced together like sand and water. He was everywhere, no matter where you were he would inevitably catch up. Maybe it took him three months the first time, but clearly he was done waiting. You rushed the check out process, not knowing how long his friend would keep him occupied now that he knew you were here. Maybe he wouldn’t even care. The thought made your stomach twist, but still, you needed to go. Your car seemed like an endless walk from the front doors, parked in the corner closest to your room, dark and unsuspecting. In such an empty place, you didn’t want your car to sit illuminated, as if advertised. This motel had a reputation, and you wanted to keep your means of travel safe. 

Your hands shook slightly as you hit the unlock button on your keys, yanking the handle to the backseat and throwing your bag somewhere in the back. It was just clothes, you didn’t care if it rolled around or hit the floor during the commute to wherever you were going, you just cared about getting out. The slam of the back door shutting seemed louder than what was appropriate for such a bone-deep silence for this time of night. Opening the driver’s side, you barely had enough room to squeeze through before it was being shoved closed from behind you. On impulse, you tried to turn around, startled and drowning in adrenaline; but before you could, the crook of his right arm encompassed your neck, tightening like a snake who was readying the prey for consumption. Your hands shot up, grasping his forearm with a futile grip, as if you could will his arm away from you. The pressure on your windpipe was bleeding black into the edges of your sight, static mingling with your hearing as your head got lighter. You could hear quiet shushes and reassurances coming from the man behind you, as though talking a child back into sleep after a nightmare. You dug your nails into the fabric of his sweatshirt as a weak sob barreled out of your mouth. He only pushed a little harder, pulling you into him. The proximity comforted you despite his actions, and you used the last little bit of energy you had to condemn yourself, body going limp against him after the last internal inquiry of what the fuck was wrong with you. He had also noticed the camera situation, knowing that his actions would go undocumented in the empty little place. He walked you over the passenger seat, hauling you in and buckling you up like a kid in a car seat. He started the route to your house, it was a Friday, your roommate would surely be out. He knew she was barely ever at the house, after staying there on and off for two years, he thinks he could probably count how many times he saw her sleep there on one hand. It wasn’t a long drive, twenty minutes or so, and you’d be home.

–

The normally disarming lamplight of your bedroom reeled in your consciousness from the void it had been thrown to. It didn’t feel particularly calming - not now. Your head was on your pillow, a focused Nam gyu diligently knotting a rope around your wrists, bundling them together and lacing the restraint through your headboard. Your neck felt bruised, sore and pulsing with a light pain as the blood rushed to your head. Your legs tensed on instinct, noticing the motion was not detained. He hadn’t tied your legs. You tugged once at the rope, testing the endurance just as much as you were testing your own strength. Your muscles felt nearly atrophied, the action making an ache ricochet through the oxygen-depleted muscles. Your whole body felt tired, heavy. Your exhale was shaky, slowly deflating from your lungs as if your body was made of stone. 

“Oh, good.” He double checked the knot, tugging once to solidify it’s hold on you before standing up to look down on you. “I didn’t know how long you’d be out.” He sounded so casual, as if instead of choking you unconscious and dragging you home, he’d simply carried you in from the car after you’d fallen asleep in it. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Your voice was quiet and gravelly, like your throat was coated in sand. Your lip trembled at the feeling of being so close to him. God, you were like a fucking puppy; can’t even be away from him for a week without turning into a weird sentimental puddle upon seeing him again. “Please untie me.” Your eyes watered as you spoke. You’d barely been awake five minutes and you were on the brink of tears. Pathetic. 

His eyes flicked over your face at the sight of your eyes welling up, a little glint of something familiar sparking in them for just a moment. “I can’t.” He shrugged, imitating disappointment at the notion. “You keep running from me. How are we supposed to resolve this if you can’t even keep still?”

Resolve this. Your eyes closed at the words, attempting to stop the tears from spilling at the thought. You’d left him for a reason. It was repeated over and over in your head like a mantra. You had to stick to it even if you couldn’t remember what the desire to be away from him felt like. Even as your chest heaved slightly with panic, you hoped he wouldn’t move. You hoped he would keep talking just so you could hear his voice, be near him. It wasn’t a rational wish by any means, but you could feel the intensity of it in your fucking bones with how consuming it was. 

“I’m not a patient man, honey. I waited for so fucking long.” He leaned over your dormant frame, putting one knee on the bed and moving his other to mirror the motion, effectively pinning your hips down under his weight. “You know, it wasn’t even your roommate who wanted you there. She just left her phone unlocked, and I knew you’d show up if she asked.”

“What-” Your words halted in your throat as he drew a pocket knife from the pocket of his sweatshirt. Jesus.  “Please - you don’t understand-” 

“Relax.” The word was chuckled slightly as he cut you off, like the panic that shot through your eyes at the sight of the blade in his hands was unjustified, like you were being irrational. “I think I was too selfish that night, hm?” The look he was giving you felt like it could kill you if he really wanted it to. Intense and suffocating, full of excitement and devotion. “You clearly hadn’t been touched in months and I got ahead of myself.” He shook his head slightly as his eyes looked over you, your chest was moving quick and shallow as you breathed, stomach tensing as he lifted your shirt up just an inch, caressing the skin above the waistband with his thumb. It barely even seemed intentional, as if his hands subconsciously drew themselves to you, needed to be touching you. 

Any urge you had to respond kept dying before it could be expelled. What do you even say to a situation like this? He was so at ease, explaining himself like a truly remorseful lover would. To anyone who didn’t know his inflection, that’s where it would end;  but you were so in tune with him, you could hear the edge of entertainment that his words carried. Maybe he was sorry, maybe he just liked seeing you unsure.

“I’m gonna make it up to you.” Your breath stumbled as he said it, your wrists grating unconsciously against the confines. “But it hurt my feelings when you ran like that.” He put a hand to his heart as he spoke, emphasizing his words. “So I’m gonna hurt you a little, too.” You felt the point of the blade make contact with the skin that his thumb had been smoothing over minutes before. It was enough to make the first tear fall from the corner of your eye. There was no pressure, just the threat of his words ringing true. Even in this scenario out of most peoples’ nightmares, you still didn’t think he’d truly hurt you, not irreparably. He’d always had sadistic tendencies, you even sometimes - shamefully - thought about the potential that was undoubtedly lurking beneath the surface of his presentability. He could get mean sometimes, especially when he was high, but never like this. He was sober, you could see it in his eyes and the way he moved. He just wanted to do this, wanted to be in control. 

He could practically feel the mesh of emotion seeping from your veins, taking longer than necessary to talk just to watch you soak in it. “Just enough to teach you some manners, honey.” His thumb trailed a line of pure heat along your jaw. “Don’t worry. You’ll probably even like it, knowing you.” 

A weird feeling jolted through the active nerves in your stomach. It was such a direct callout, based in certainty that he carried in his voice. You felt caught, recalling all the times he most likely knew exactly what you were thinking. Another tear streamed down the side of your face. 

The steel in his hand glistened in the low light of your bedroom, the sharpness of it being dragged down the fabric of your shirt, severing the only semblance of modesty you had left; the material draping open and bearing your skin to him. You’d been practically ready for bed by the time you took your walk, foregoing any additional coverage underneath the shirt, leaving all of you vulnerable to the exploration of his eyes. He pushed the sagging cloth to hang more off your shoulders, grazing his hands over the naked parts of you. It was gentle, restrained, like he couldn’t bear the time it would take to touch all of you because he needed it that badly. 

You felt the sting of an opening wound a second later, a whimper barely fleeing your throat. It wasn’t deep, he didn’t push hard. His lips parted as the blood rose to the surface of the small cut, pooling within it and releasing a single drop to pour down the side of your stomach. Before it could gain traction, he smeared the runny crimson, letting the liquid coat the print of his thumb. His pupils dilated at the sight, his breath coming out shakier than he’d like as his blood seemed to thrum in his veins. 

Your face twisted at the feeling, molten lava pooling in your stomach and burning you from the inside out. You felt hot, immune responses and arousal both running rampant in your body. You’d never felt more awake. He lowered his head to your exposed collarbone, brutally reminiscent of the night that predated this one. “See? Not so bad.” He led his hand up to your mouth, palm skimming your side as he hovered his thumb above your sealed lips, muttering out a request to open your mouth for me and you did because he was inexplicably intoxicating. Your tongue was coated in bitter metal combining with the discreet and slight flavor of his skin. You felt dizzy. 

He mouthed down the expanse of your upper body, leaving patches of your skin shiny with his saliva and stinging from the occasional love bite he would leave. He marked his places of affection with small cuts, each one sending a wave of warmth lower and lower, fanning the flames down to where he would ultimately end up. He would kiss over each future scar he left on you, a bloody comparison to your relationship as a whole, his actions making your heart ache and your back arch. You had been trying your hardest to stay quiet, trembling exhales being the only thing you couldn’t suppress; but he had a way of wearing you down in the most pleasurable ways imaginable, gradually building you up to the whimpers that were slipping past your crumbling resolve. 

With caring hands, he pulled at the waistband of your pants, folding them out from under your hips and bending each of your legs forward to get them fully off of your legs, laying them back down once he had. The room felt colder than it ever had. He stared with pride at the state of your perpetually clenched thighs, groping at the tense muscles. “What’d I tell you, huh?” He tucked the blade of the knife under the seam of your underwear, pulling up and slicing clean through them. “I don’t know why you want out when you like it so much.” Cutting the other seam, he let the fabric slide off of you, discarding the shreds of useless hindrance and taking in the full sight of you. 

You didn’t know why you ran either. You did like it. You liked it so fucking much that it scared you. Maybe it was a fear of feeling good, or a fear of what this kind of connection would inevitably do to you, what kind of a man he was. You’d tried to leave him and ended up panting, wet skin glistening and covered in gashes; and the worst part was you liked it. How the fuck could you like something like this?

He left various other claims of territory on your thighs. Teeth marks, nicks from the knife, worshipping kisses of a man in love. Everything action committed against your wanting flesh had so much emotion laced in it that you could barely take it. You were overwhelmed, your brain half shut down, only stopping itself from going dark because then you wouldn’t be able to feel him, to accept what he was giving you. 

He pushed your thighs out of their locked state, soothing over the irritation littered on them with his thumbs and his lips, dulling the sting with an even greater ache that was bleeding directly into the center of you. You felt like he’d lit you on fire. 

The tip of his index finger scorched a line up the place you’d been anticipating, shamelessly gliding in copious arousal that had been pooling since you saw him leaning on the hood of that car. It was a touch that seemed to pump life back into you, invigorating and familiar. Something you missed so much that you were sure you’d never be able to fathom the depth of it. He cursed, quiet and breathy; and you groaned at the feeling of friction, even if it was just a little. 

His mouth on you was sudden, but not rushed; the spontaneity of it forcing a gasp from you. His actions were calculated, arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you open, malleable and pinned. His hands were tense on your legs, fingers digging in tight as if he was struggling with his own internal grievances. You weren’t sure if it was restraint, or desperation, or something uncharted between the two of you. It was scary to think that something could be undefined right now, that maybe he was lost too. 

The warmth of his mouth on you after already having your body thoroughly overworked nearly knocked you unconscious for the second time that night. Your head was as thrown back as it could be given the state of your arms, chest reaching for the ceiling. Your poor wrists burned in the grit of the rope, but it only seemed to add to the peak you were being pushed to. He brought his index finger to sweep through the bountiful wetness in between your legs, this time pushing in and curling up, his second finger joining soon after. 

“Gyu - please -” The nickname was so domestic, something that hadn’t left your lips in months but seemed to feel as natural as breathing in this moment. The loving tone hit him like a wave, drawing a reflexive groan from his mouth. His eyes were practically black from how much his pupils encompassed the iris, his own eyes looking a little watery as a less extreme mimic of yours.

“Missed the way you taste.” The auditory affirmation paired with his fingers and his mouth sent you toppling. His fingers never let up, his mouth detaching to plant light kisses on the bone of your hip, looking up at your breathtaking form with an awestruck gaze that you couldn’t see through your closed eyes and tilted back head. 

You panted, thinking it was over. Maybe he’d fuck you, or maybe he would make you tea and the two of you would finally talk about things. He just moved his soaking fingers up to your clit, your body jumping slightly at the sensitivity. 

“Wait-” 

“Shh, just take it.” He spoke low and moved back to where he was, starting again when you had barely started coming down. His declaration of making it up to you rung in your ears. How long was long enough to be considered even? You writhed with overstimulation as you thought about it. Ten minutes? Thirty minutes? An hour? Your second orgasm hit you hard in the middle of your useless inquiries, and you realize it didn’t really matter.

You were in for a long fucking night regardless.

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃❮𓁿❯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃

tags: @mitsxuri @citarnosis @namgyunation (tagging you lovely folks because you all mentioned wanting more content. please let me know if you want your @ removed and i will do it ASAP <3)

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

need - m. murdock

a/n: y'all ever get ridiculously high and see a photo of the red and yellow daredevil suit and get sick with how badly you want matt murdock? i do. this is the product of that. its just a lot of fluff and kisses and banter and such

3:21 A.M.

You will yourself not to fall asleep, not just yet. But, you curl into a pillow as your eyes grow heavy, your brain starting to wander somewhere far away from Hell’s Kitchen. Your breathing is slow, and these are your favorite moments.

They’re filled with anticipation, a calm before the storm. Most nights, you’re too anxious to sleep. And maybe it’s because you know he’s putting himself in danger. But you have this fleeting suspicion in the very back corner of your mind that it’s because you yearn for him so intensely, that you burn not with anxiety.. But with longing.

The window barely creeks as he opens it, knowing your relaxed form is curled up in between silk sheets just a couple of feet away.

“Hey Daredevil,” You hum softly, sleepy eyes watching as he climbs inside your bedroom, “City finally sleeping?” You wonder, and he just scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” He responds, and you just grin at how brooding he is.

“Nice suit,” You start, “Makes your thighs look great.”

“Thanks.” He hums, “Must be some suit if it gets pretty things like you to notice me.” You roll your eyes, and you open your mouth just to tease him, but he sits his pretty ass down right onto your amazing and gorgeous silk sheets! That he insisted on!

“Oh, do not tell me you are sitting on my pretty sheets! Matthew!” You huff, gently kicking his back.

“Ow—Hey!” He laughs, squirming a bit. “I thought you were happy to see me!”

“I was—I am!” You remind, “But you’re getting dirt, blood, or—Whatever in our bed!”

“You’re bruising my kidneys,” He laughs as he slumps back, feeling as you kick him—Well, kicking seems so violent, you’re just trying to push him off a bit. He reaches behind himself to grab your ankle.

“Fuck them kidneys!” You say between laughs, and then you move to push him off the bed, leaning up against him as you push.. You’re not very successful.

“Oh my god,” he laughs, and then he twists his body and grabs you by the arms to pull you onto his lap. “You’re such a brat.” He clicks his tongue, and you just shake your head.

“I just don’t like devils in gold getting my sheets dirty.” You defend. He tilts his head. Then, he lets go of one of your arms and pulls his helmet off, a smirk on his face.

“Maybe it won’t bother you if you can’t see it.” And your brain takes just a second to buffer before you realize what’s happening.

“Daredevil, I swear to—” You move to get off his lap but Matt simply grabs you by the waist and pulls your back against his chest, his arm wrapping around your torso.

“Okay, Easy,” He grins, before placing the helmet over your eyes. You blink as you get used to the lack of light.

“Kinda smells like you,” You confess, and he laughs, leaning down to kiss your neck. That’s all it takes to get you melting against him. But it’s only after a minute to you wiggle to get off his lap, “I’m still mad at you,” You inform.

“Fine,” He concedes, “I have to shower anyways.”

“Finally, something we can agree on.” You hum, and he stands up, taking a few steps towards the bathroom as you pull off his helmet, and you think, okay, great, he’s finally gonna clean off that musk— “Matthew!” You yelp as Matt swoops down and picks you up from behind, bridal style.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” He hums, “I lied.”

“Yeah, I figured—” but before you can finish, he tosses you right onto the bed. You groan as you land on the bed. And then, Matt climbs into bed next to you. “Matthew, I swear to fucking god—”

“Oh, stop,” He hums softly, “I just want to lay with you here,” He hums as you climb on top of him, resting on his lower stomach before his hands find your waist.

“I can’t believe you’re ruining the silk sheets that we got because of your senses.” You shake your head.

Matt elects to ignore your concerns.

“Do you really like the suit?” He wonders, and you just grin.

“You look very sexy in it,” You promise, and he grins.

“Okay,” He starts, “Give me a kiss and I’ll go shower.” He promises, and then he purses his lips—Of course, you lean down and kiss him, wondering if normal couples knew how much they’re missing out on.

But it only lasts a moment, because then, with a groan, Matt sits up, beginning to rub your sides. He’s a man of his word, and the quicker he showers, the quicker he’ll come back. So, begrudgingly, you climb off him.

“Go shower,” You request, and he leans over and kisses your cheek, so you add, “Hurry back.” And you can feel his lips form a smirk against your cheek.

As soon as Matt’s in the bathroom, you peel off the sheets that were on your bed, putting the spare set of soft sheets onto the mattress. Then, you’re too excited for your boyfriend to come back to rest, so you make your way to the kitchen to make Matt a snack; He should be hungry, and you’d genuinely rather pull teeth than let him go to bed hungry.

Your kind gesture is interrupted, though. As you pull out the peanut butter he likes from the cupboard, you hear light footsteps behind you and before you can react, he has again swept you off your feet, but now.. His warm skin is pressed against you, because Matthew has swept you off your feet in just his boxer briefs.

His hair is still damp from the shower, and you’re sure if you leaned up to kiss his scruff, that would be just a tad damp. So, you’re too enamored to protest when he picks you up, hauling you off to the bedroom, with your new sheets, and he gently tosses you onto the mattress.

You don’t have time to say anything before him when he climbs into bed after you, climbing on top of you. His hands find yours, linking your fingers together.

“Comfortable?” He asks you. You grin at him.

“Mhm,” You hum, “But I think you need to kiss me.”

“Need? I don’t know about—” He cuts himself off with an ‘oomph’ as you shift your position, now on top of him.

“Yeah. Need.” You hum, leaning down to kiss him again.

Matt’s new suit and helmet lays sprawled out in your apartment, but he decides kissing you at three something in the morning is much more important than that.

[fortunekookie07]

hii can i request a highschool au, where sylus is the scary but popular jock x nerdy/normal reader😫 thank you!!

Not Just The Girl Next Door

Nonnie, I absolutely adore your request. Because you brought it to me. Thank you sooooo much for trusting me to craft your desire. Love you for it.

I am immensely sorry it took so long. I hope I haven't disappointed you. I struggled with this one a bit, and not because your request was hard, I didn't want to deliver a cliché. I rewrote this one a couple times. If you want to see the unfished alternate, let me know.

****************************************************

Sylus, how could one name make your heart feel full of giddines? Put those butterflies in your stomach and make your brain mush?

He'd been your classmate since preschool. He even lived on your street. How could one person be so close and yet so far out of reach?

You never minded his teasing, he'd never taken it too far. After all, it was to be expected. Many times, you'd examined yourself just to count all the things you saw as flaws.

Unruly wild red curls hung around your face and trailed over your shoulders all the way down your back to your hips. Your mother absolutely loved your hair. You'd lost count of how many times she'd begged you not to cut or change the color.

The round glasses perched on your nose framed your face nicely, but you hated their necessity. If only you'd gotten your mother's perfect vision. You had yet to win the debate on trying contacrs.

If only you were taller, being the shortest one in the senior class was irritating. People often mistook you as a freshman and sometimes you knew it was on purpose.

Sylus had been the one to start the jokes. While the rest of your classmates were getting taller, you didn't. The only thing that has grown was your curves. Your mom liked to say that you had the perfect hourglass figure. One that you worked hard to hide. Being teased for having no boobs as opposed to being well-endowed was much better.

It was easy to hide with the schools mandatory uniform. Button up white collared shirts, a sweater vest in dark blue or gold. For the girls, a pleated plaid skirt in the same colors. The boys could wear black or dark blue pants. During the winter months, a black jacket could be worn.

As you stood in front of the mirror, examining your appearance, you could hear your mother calling you from downstairs. "Are you ready yet? You need to be leaving now!" You scrambled to shove your feet into shoes while trying to smooth your hair back so you could braid it. "I'm coming, mom!" You shouted back to her, tying the end of the briaid and scooping up your bag.

"Have a good day." She said, kissing your forehead and then pushing you out the door. It was windy today. Spring was just around the corner. Hurrying to your car, you quickly started the engine just as your phone rang. It was Tara.

"Hey girl!" She answered with her usual bubbliness. "Can you pick me up? My dad confiscated my keys this morning." You knew instantly that she had a story and had gotten into trouble again. "Yeah, I'll be there in three minutes." Her sigh of relief had you shaking your head.

Tara was extremely outgoing and well liked. It was a miracle that she had picked you, the quiet introverted girl with her nose always in a book as best friend. But that had been the case from the first grade till now. She tended to get into trouble with her dad a lot. He was always trying to calm her down and teach her patience. He wasn't mean, just very strict. Sometimes, he would compare the two of you. About how well-behaved you were and your much quieter nature.

She really tried sometimes to play the role he wanted, but it was hard. It was her nature to be loud, rowdy, and very outgoing. Maybe this was why you were friends. You balanced each other out.

Fifteen minutes later, you were settled into your first period English class waiting for the teacher. He was running late as usual. He had a knack for being perpetually late. Around you, you could hear whispers and the scratches of pens as people scrambled to do the homework from last class.

Ever the one prepared for class, your books and notebook sate neatly on your desk. No one was paying you any mind. Too focused on their own affairs. Well, you thought no one was watching you. How wrong you were.

"Well now, look here. The little Kitten is all ready for class." His deep baritone voice sent shivers down your spine. Sylus hadn't used your actual name in years. Ever since the day he'd dubbed you Kitten, that's all he would call you.

He swooped in and grabbed your notebook. Dodging your hands as you scrambled to get it back. "Give it back." You said, trying to remain calm. Getting angry or showing your frustration only spurred him on.

"Then jump for it." He said a smirk on his face as he held the notebook high in the air well over his head. He knew you couldn't get it. Your short stature would never allow it. What he didn't count on was your resourcefulness. Or the fact that you were agile.

Swiftly, you stood from your seat and climbed onto your desk. Anger fueling your actions. You jumped for it, fingers just barely brushing the spine as he changed the way he was holding it.

Forgetting yourself and where you were, you lunged, throwing your full weight at him as you jumped higher. This time, you managed to grasp your notebook. It would seem your mom's insistence on dance classes was not useless.

Sylus stumbled as your full weight pushed him back. He clearly wasn't expecting you to throw yourself at him for the notebook.

"What's going on in here?" The sharp voice of Mr. Reynolds snapped you back to reality. The position you were now in was clearly inappropriate for a classroom. Your body was firmly pressed against Sylus. His hand pressed firmly against your waist. He was practically laying on the desk with you on top of him. Still holding the notebook with your hand tightly grasping it as well.

The look in his eyes was a mixture of surprise, amusement, and something you couldn't quite name.

Mr. Reynolds sharply called your name, and you scrambled back to standing. Face bright red with embarrassment. How you wished the floor would swallow you whole. This had to top any embarrassing moment you'd ever had in your eighteen years on this Earth.

Seeing how mortified you were, Mr. Reynolds turned to Sylus. "Explain yourself right now!" He was angry, face turning red as he glared.

"Just having a bit of fun. Just a joke." Sylus said nonchalantly. His ears were slightly red. Was he embarrassed, too? "Detention, both of you, go right now." He pointed to the door, shaking his finger as he did so. "I do not allow such nonsense in my classroom. If I ever see this level of disregard for school decorum again, I'll have you both expelled. I don't care if you are the star player or the top academic student. I'll not have it!"

Snatching your notebook from Sylus' hand, you scooped up your books and walked to the door, footsteps heavy with dread. Never, not once in all your years of school had you been in trouble. A teacher had never reprimanded you before, never mind yelling at you.

Your eyes burner with unshed tears. This was all his fault. You tried hard not to cry. You would not let him of all people see you shed a tear. A quick glance beside you, he looked completely unphased. How could he be so calm right now?? Anger took over.

"This is all your fault. Why can't you just leave me alone? I'm not a toy for your amusement. I do not exist to entertain you when you're bored." You chest heaved as you finally said what you'd always wanted to. "See me, Sylus. I am not your Kitten. I'm a person." Despite your best efforts you were crying now.

Tears slipping down your face as you finally told him all the things you'd wanted to say for years. You'd stopped walking, and so had he. His face had a broken expression as he stood there helpless while you cried. "See me." You said in a begging tone.

He stepped closer to you, gently pulling your glasses from your face. Using his sleeve, he wiped the tears even as they continued to fall.

He stared down at your face, puffy from crying, nose red. Cupping your cheeks as he looked down at you. You couldn't name the expression in his eyes. It tore at your heart.

How much you wanted something you were sure you couldn't have. Sylus could pick any girl he wanted, so why would he choose you? The small girl, the one who was always studying. Who didn't wear makeup or pretty jewelry. The one who hid herself away instead of showing off what she had. Why would he choose you? With a heart of gold, a fierce loyalty to the few friends you have and a deep love of your family.

Still wiping your tears away with his thumbs, he finally speaks. "Silly girl, why are you so silly? I've always seen you. How can I not see you?" His expression was tender gazing at you like he held the most precious thing in the world.

"You always make fun of me. You're always calling me short and teasing me for never handing in assignments late. For always being top of the class. You called me four eyes in primary school. You pull my hair and hide my books." You sniffle loudly, finally your tears have stopped.

He sighs loudly, breaking eye contact as he hangs his head. "For someone so smart, you're incredibly dense. I hope you know that." He looks at you again. "Have you never heard that a guy will pick on the girl he likes? I don't know how else to get your attention. You're not like other girls. You don't follow after me. You never talk to me unless I start. I've never seen you at any of my games. Tell me how I'm supposed to bring you back to my level?"

He's looking at you earnestly now, but your brain has disconnected. Surely he didn't mean that he liked you. You must have misheard him. "Wh-what did you say?" You stutter out after a minute of silence.

Sylus sighs deeply again. "Words have no effect, I see." He tilts your face upwards more, and before you can react, his warm lips steal yours. If your brain was disconnected before, it's completely offline and mush now. Unable to think of anything, slowly, your hands come up to grasp the lapels of his jacket, crushing them in your grip.

You stand on your toes so he doesn't have to lean down so far. In the back of your head, you're glad he took your glasses off. The lenses would be fogged up now. Pressing yourself closer, you give in. Your lungs are starting to beg for air, but you never want this moment to end.

But end it does, he pulls back, and you stare deeply into his red irises. The depth of his emotions is swirling around, trying to pull you in.

"Do you understand me now?" He asks quietly, watching you intently.

"Why me?" You mumble quietly. "Why not you? I've always been drawn to you. Ever since we were kids. You're like a flame that burns just for me. I don't want to be apart from you anymore. Don't pull away from me now." His voice is not more than a whisper, but it still pierces your heart.

The sincerity in his voice sends you over the edge. Your face burns red again, and you hide it in his jacket. "Is this going to be a habit of yours?" He asks, chuckling as he wraps his arms around you. "Shut up." You mutter against his chest. "We're still in trouble and have detention." He comments, and you freeze. You'd forgotten that detail.

"I'm still mad at you for that." You say stepping back. He grasps your hand and leads you to the office laughing.

****************************************************

I'm so sorry again for the long wait. I hope you get all the fluffy feels out of this that I tried to pack in.

If you want to read my original draft, message me. If you want to take a different route and finish the one I started, I will relinquish it. Just let me know.